


Of Broken, Blazing Wings

by FrEShAVocaNoob



Series: Of Broken, Blazing Wings [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Under the Red Hood, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd becomes a Phoenix host, Minor Character Death, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 44
Words: 189,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21715924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrEShAVocaNoob/pseuds/FrEShAVocaNoob
Summary: Jason Todd died. Now he's alive, and he doesn't know why. He has superpowers, and he doesn't know why. He has visions of a weird white room, and he doesn't know why. All he knows is that he needs to see the Joker dead, and he needs Batman to pull the trigger, and he would burn Gotham to the ground to see it happen.But you know what they say about playing with fire...(AKA the Phoenix Force exists in the DC universe and resurrects Jason Todd.)
Series: Of Broken, Blazing Wings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956610
Comments: 421
Kudos: 966





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first fanfic on here! I hope you enjoy it. I'm new to tagging, so any suggestions for which ones to use will be appreciated.

Jason wasn’t sure how long it took him to die. He’d blacked out as soon as the bomb went off. Batman’s report said that he found his body six minutes and twenty-four seconds later. Jason had no doubt this was perfectly accurate, because Bruce couldn’t torment himself over it if he didn’t know exactly how many seconds too late he’d been. So, depending on if he died of smoke inhalation like his death certificate said, it was somewhere between instantaneous and six minutes and twenty-three seconds.

Jason wasn’t sure how long it took him to come back, either. He died on April 27. He was buried on April 30. A John Doe matching his description was found unconscious on the side of the road leading to Gotham on November 21 and remained comatose until January 18, when he disappeared in the middle of the night. Talia found him homeless and catatonic on March 2. Her doctors declared his full mental faculties restored on June 12. So, depending on how one qualified coming back, it was somewhere between three days and one year, one month, and fourteen days.

It was easier to wonder how long it took rather than _how_. He spent enough time reliving his death in his dreams, he didn’t need to do it when he was awake, too. And no matter how much prodding or how many memory exercises Talia did, he couldn’t remember how he came back. All he could remember from before she found him were vague sensations of cold and hunger, which they agreed was probably from his time on the streets, and a feeling he could best describe as a white-hot headache.

Considering his mysterious resurrection, they probably shouldn’t have been so surprised when his powers started manifesting.

It was a normal training session. He was fighting two rookie assassins trying to make up for their lack of skill with their eagerness to kill. It should have been simple, routine. Should didn’t mean shit, though, and overconfidence and/or bad luck gave one of them an opening to throw a knife at his head. He had just enough time to realize he didn’t have time to dodge, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Instead of darkness, he found blinding white light, and agonizing white heat, and deafening white noise. He couldn’t feel his body at all, and his mind felt as if it were exploding in an enclosed space, pieces of himself bouncing off the walls and crashing into each other and mixing with something that was already there. Something… something that was…

Consciousness slammed back into him like a freight train. Between the migraine, the stars in his eyes, and the ringing in his ears, it took him about ten heartbeats to realize he was lying on the floor of the training room. It took another few to realize Talia was staring down at him with a forced sort of calm and asking if he could hear her.

“What happened?” he mumbled.

Talia tilted her head slightly. “What do you think happened?”

Jason glared at her. “I think that I’m not in the mood for mind games. What happened?”

“I’m not playing mind games.” The ‘right now’ was unspoken. “I am not certain, and I wanted your perspective. From mine, it appeared that you used some form of telekinesis to stop the knife mid-air and collapsed from the effort.”

Jason took a few deep breaths and tried to blink away the remnants of whatever the hell just happened. He couldn’t figure out if she was lying or not with a headache so… so… so white-hot.

He closed his eyes and thought back to the earliest memories of his new life, if one could call them memories. It was the same general feeling, but back then he must have been too brain-damaged to comprehend what was happening. He wasn’t sure if he’d comprehended what was happening this time, either. Maybe it was the afterlife. Maybe the knife had struck true and he’d died and come back again. Maybe he had the superpower of coming back from the dead. Or maybe Talia was telling the truth, and whatever lived in that weird white place had given him life again and was ensuring that he kept it.

He didn’t know, and that was all he told Talia. He got sent back to his room for the day to rest and think everything over. He wasn’t very successful at either. The next day, it was back to training, and during a lecture on proper balancing Talia threw a knife at him mid-sentence to make sure he was caught off-guard. Everything went white again, but this time he came back on his feet and in time to hear the knife clatter to the ground. Talia was so happy she did it again a few minutes later, and that time Jason passed out again.

Jason’s training changed quite a bit after that. There was still some of the physical stuff to keep him sharp, but mostly they focused on strengthening his new power. He’d always been a quick study, so it didn’t take long before he was moving things that weren’t about to stab him. That didn’t mean it was easy, though. He passed out and saw white so much that he came up with a name for it- the White Hot Room. Sure, not the most creative or impressive name, but it’s not like he was saying it out loud. The less Talia, and by extension Ra’s, knew, the better. If they figured out how he’d come back to life, they might decide they had no more use for him and arrange an unfortunate accident. Telekinesis or no, he wasn’t sure he’d survive that.

The telekinesis was one thing. He could handle it. He’d come back from the dead, it figured that he’d come back… different. At least he wasn’t eating brains or something.

Then telepathy came around and kicked him square in the nuts.

It started so subtly. Gut feelings about whether he was being lied to, noticing shifts in temperament he hadn’t before even with Batman’s training, strange dreams of people and places and things he’d never seen before. All easily written off with logic. Then one day he woke up in an empty room with ears full of whispers.

It might not have been so bad if he had any thoughts to listen to besides those of professional murderers. He thought he’d seen the worst of humanity, but… It was one thing to see it. It was another to have a first-row seat to the thought process behind it. He spent most of that first day crying and throwing up and fighting the urge to kill everyone in the building. It would just get him killed, and a lot of it could just be fantasies never meant to be reality.

Talia was worried. Not just ‘a useful tool isn’t working right’ worried, she was actually worried about him as a human being. It was… nice. Focusing on those surprisingly warm thoughts kept him from bashing his head into the wall until it all stopped. He told her he must have caught a bug or something. She cared about him, but she cared about her father and their plans more. He couldn’t afford to tip his hand.

He learned to tune it out enough to function and tried not to flinch whenever he accidentally heard something that made his stomach churn. He could handle it. He was fine.

Until one day he was brushing his teeth, looked at himself in the mirror, and realized how much older he looked. His cheeks were dusted with stubble, and he was getting taller and broader in the shoulders than he’d ever thought he would, what with the malnourishment and all. Hell, he might even be taller than Dick. He probably wouldn’t get as big as Bruce, but…

He spat out the toothpaste, put down the toothbrush, wiped his mouth, and stared at himself. He was seventeen, now. If the universe had any kindness, he should be starting his senior year of high school, getting used to balancing school and Robin again, this time with the added pressure of college plans. Gotham U would let him stay home, but even at fifteen he’d heard that the Literature program was shit. He’d talk with Bruce and Alfred about it. Maybe he’d even give Dick a call. Maybe he’d have a girlfriend (or boyfriend, he was still questioning) he could talk to. He’d be conflicted, stressed, probably injured, and so, _so_ grateful for every second of it.

He stared at the League of Assassins uniform he was wearing, at the blades meant to kill hanging from his hip. He stared himself in the eyes and saw a defeated resignation he thought he’d left behind on the streets. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to go home. He wanted-

The mirror cracked. Jason took a deep breath and tried to calm down a little. His telekinesis was getting stronger, which meant his discipline had to as well. There was a flame burning inside him now, though, hot and angry and hopeful, and no amount of deep breaths was going to quench it. He finally looked away from the mirror and set off to find Talia.

She’d given him a hundred excuses. Jason was legally dead, showing up could put Batman’s secret identity in danger. They didn’t know how he’d come back, and she wanted to be sure that he was stable and himself before she returned him to his family. He needed to make sure he could control his telekinesis before he surrounded himself with defenseless civilians. He’d only asked again once after his telepathy emerged, and the sheer pity she felt for him was so suffocating that he shut her out and didn’t ask again. Until now.

He stalked through the halls, ignoring the assassins he passed by both physically and mentally as he followed the ‘scent’ of Talia’s thoughts. _I really need to ask J’onn for some better telepathic terminology,_ he thought to himself as he went out the door to the garden. _If I ever get out of here, that is._

Talia was sitting on a bench beneath a pretty tree he didn’t know the name of, reading a book. She was thinking about Damian again. She thought about him a lot, but due to a reluctance to invade her privacy (stupid as that was) or getting distracted, Jason had never figured out if he was an apprentice of hers or if Ra’s had finally gotten the son he wanted or whatever. He couldn’t look into it now. Having to feel that pity again might make him balk, and he couldn’t do that today. He’d wait until she’d given her answer before checking to see how much of it was bullshit.

He stopped in just the right spot to cast his shadow over the book and said, “I want to go home.”

She continued staring at the book with a perfect poker face for a few moments before looking up at him. “You have lived here for over a year. Is this not your home?”

Jason let out a bitter laugh. “It’s my fucking prison, Talia, and we both know it. I want to go _home_.”

There was the pity, again. So much of it that it was actually leaking into her expression. “Gotham has changed since you last saw it, and Batman has changed with it. You would not find the home you remember.”

Part of Jason wondered if it was true. Who knew what two years and losing a child had done to Bruce? He quickly shook the thought and switched tracks. “Look, I’m never going to remember how I came back, no matter how many evil sorcerers you bring in to jog my memory.” There had already been more than enough. If he had to feel one more twisted magical tendril try to claw its way through his head, he was going to kill everyone in the room. “And I’m never going to join your League, so you might as well cut your losses and just let me go.”

Talia’s expression went cold again. “That is not an option, Jason, and we both know it.”

“Believe it or not, most people consider not murdering anyone who tries to get out of the cult a perfectly reasonable option.”

She finally put the book down to give him her full, annoyed attention. “This is no joking matter. I have invested far too much in your life to see you throw it away again.”

“Yeah, well…” Jason raised his hand, telekinetically raising a few (relatively small, he didn’t want another trip to the White Hot Room) rocks with it. “I’m not sure you can stop me anymore.”

There was still a little doubt. He’d barely had his powers for two months, and the League of Assassins was trained to go against metahumans. There was a lot of hope, though. He had years of training with the League’s greatest adversary under his belt, and at the rate his powers were strengthening he could be throwing cars by the time they found him. It was a gamble he was willing to take. The only question was if Talia would take it.

She diverted her gaze slightly to the right, admiring the view as she thought. Jason fought down the urge to peek in her head as the seconds dragged on. It felt too much like cheating.

Finally, she picked up her book and rose to her feet. “If you truly wish to return to Gotham, meet me at the cliffs. If you see sense, report to the training room.” And then she was gone, leaving nothing but the scent of her perfume behind.

If Jason had any sense, he wouldn’t have tried stealing the tires off the Batmobile in the first place.

The view from the cliffs was beautiful. Like something on a postcard. As a kid, Jason always thought those things were drawings or photoshopped. He lived in Crime Alley, how was he supposed to think a place that beautiful was actually real? His first (and only) vacation with Bruce had been quite the experience. Bruce once joked that the only thing he regretted with Jason was not recording his reaction.

Guess he had a few more things to regret, now.

Jason sat a safe distance from the edge and hugged his knees to his chest. Why was he even bothering to wait for Talia? Why not just leave now? The sooner he left, the greater the head start he got. Every moment he waited was another moment Bruce thought he was dead. He’d been wracked with soul-crushing guilt every time Jason so much as got a bruise. Just how bad did he get when he’d actually died?

Jason felt something cold in the pit of his stomach. He knew how reckless Batman could be. He knew he needed someone watching his back. He tried to imagine Batman after Jason had died, alone, angry, grieving, and guilty. That kind of Batman would be beyond reckless. That Batman might have gotten killed, and Talia wasn’t telling him to spare his feelings. That Batman might have broken his one rule, and Talia still wasn’t telling him to spare his feelings. He didn’t know which was worse.

No. That was a lie. He knew which was worse. Part of Jason always wondered if the world would be a better place if they took a few monsters out of it. He didn’t push Garzonas off that balcony, but he didn’t try to catch him, either. He didn’t regret it, no matter how much Bruce yelled at him. Scum like that was never going to get better. Scum like _the Joker_ was never going to get better, and Jason didn’t like how much he liked the idea that Batman had finally realized that and decided Jason was the last person he’d ever hurt.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he let down his mental barriers and sensed Talia’s thoughts before her physical presence. He got a searing blast of pity before blocking her off again and taking a deep breath. He didn’t care what she had to say, but he’d let her say it anyway. He was going back home the moment her back was turned.

Once she was within arm’s reach, she held a smartphone out to him. “Here. Research whatever you wish.”

Jason eyed her suspiciously. “You had me come all the way out here for a Google search?”

Her poker face was back in place. “A precaution. Your power is unstable, and you will not like what you find.” And then she was gone again.

He hit the power button, half expecting it to explode. It looked like a newer model – no, it looked like a model from when he’d died. The newer ones probably had holograms and shit. Old or not, it had an internet connection and a working browser, and that’s all he needed. His thumb hovered over the screen, considering what to search first. ‘Batman’ would just get him rumors and second-hand sources at best. ‘Jason Todd’ would get a lot of articles about his murder, and he didn’t feel like a panic attack right now.

He typed Bruce Wayne in and hit search. The photos grabbed his attention first, if only because of how _old_ he looked in them. The Brucie mask was as bright and happy as ever, but there were grey hairs and wrinkles that hadn’t been there a year ago. He skimmed through the articles. Charity events, supermodel flings, blah blah blah… Nothing about him getting any serious injuries. Good.

He saw an article titled _Bruce Wayne Speaks About Grieving and Recovery_ , clicked on it thinking it’d be the same sob story about his parents he’d given hundreds of times, spotted his own name, and immediately closed it. He didn’t want to see that. It wouldn’t matter, once he got back home. Still, Batman was always lecturing him on knowing what he was getting into, so he reopened the browser.

He looked up Alfred next. He wasn’t as high-profile and never got into social media, so Jason looked up Dick’s twitter to see if he’d mentioned him. He was relieved to see that Dick was still doing okay, and quite annoyed by how many stupid tweets about food and bad puns he had to scroll through until he found one from a few weeks ago declaring Alfred the greatest chef on the planet. Good. Alfred was still Alfred, and apparently Dick was coming around for dinner again. Barbara was okay, too, if her replies to some of Dick’s worse puns were anything to go by.

Everyone seemed okay, or at least as okay as they could be. So why did Talia feel so bad for him?

He typed in Batman and hit enter and glanced at the first news article that popped up, not expecting much.

_BATMAN AND ROBIN RETURN THE JOKER TO ARKHAM_

Did Google change their algorithm while he was dead? Why was a years-old article the first one to pop up? The last time they’d locked _him_ up was… He checked the date. No. No, no, no, no, that couldn’t be right. It couldn’t. That was just a few days ago. That was impossible. He clicked the link and read through the article as fast as he could, looking for the _April Fools!_ He didn’t find it. He went back and scrolled through the other articles he spotted. All of them told the same story.

The Joker was alive, Batman had a new Robin, and Jason’s death hadn’t changed a goddamn thing.

He closed his eyes and deepened his breathing. _It’s all fake,_ he told himself. _Talia’s trying to trick you into helping her bring down Batman. She had people create a fake browser that just shows a database of fake articles meant to wind me up. It’s a lie. It’s not real. It can’t be. Bruce loves me. He wouldn’t…_

But Bruce already had, hadn’t he? Dick’s old costume was barely cold before he shoved Jason into it. He’d seen more murdered children and grieving families than Jason could imagine, and he still refused to do anything worse than put someone in a body cast for a few months. Why was Jason surprised? Did he really think he mattered more to Bruce than the mission? Did he really think -

He sent his mental barriers crashing down and reached out for Talia. In his right mind, he would have realized that she was too far away and given up. In his current state of mind, he found her almost instantly. With all the finesse of a sledgehammer, he dived down past the surface thoughts and tore through her memories. He thought of that feeling of overwhelming pity and tracked it like a beacon until he found-

_Talia steepled her fingers as she looked at the last DNA results. 100% match, just like all the others, and they didn’t have any more samples to compare. All the evidence suggested that the boy in her custody was indeed a mysteriously resurrected Jason Todd._

_She glanced over at him, still sitting on the examination table, gazing blankly at the wall. Pity welled in her heart at the sight. The few times she had encountered the second Robin, he’d always been overflowing with passion, whether it be a smirk and a ‘witty’ quip or a snarl and an attack more vicious than anything his predecessor was capable of. Something must have gone wrong with his resurrection, because clearly not all of him had come back._

_She turned back to the computer, closed the program, and reopened the hospital files she’d been searching through. If her hypothesis was true, it meant that Jason Todd had been alive and wandering the streets of Gotham for nearly two months, and her beloved had no idea. Would he have even cared? For all his apparent grief and claims of Robin being more than a child soldier, he’d certainly been quick enough to replace him. He hadn’t even bothered avenging his ‘son’. The more she saw of his failure at fatherhood, the more assured she was in-_

_**Get. Out. Of. My. Head.** _

Jason gasped and fell forward. He barely felt the cool earth beneath his forehead. He didn’t notice it grow hotter and hotter as his mind reluctantly wrapped itself around the truth. He didn’t smell the plastic in the phone melting. He didn’t feel it flow over his hand in molten streams. He didn’t smell the smoke or feel it sting his eyes.

There was only the knowledge that he meant _nothing_ – not his life, not his death, not to Bruce, not to the universe – and white.


	2. Learning Curve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for heavy implications of CSA near the end of the chapter.

Jason stared at the cigarette and willed it to light on fire with all his might.

It still didn’t work.

He sighed and slipped it back in the box, and slipped the box back in his pocket. Why was pyrokinesis so hard? Telekinesis only took a few days to get a handle on. It had been months since he nearly burned down the countryside, and he couldn’t so much as light a candle. Consciously, anyway. Talia had to wake him up from a few nightmares with a face full of fire extinguisher. She’d tried to ‘help’ by locking him in a freezer for five hours, but all that accomplished was revealing he now had a completely stable internal temperature. Kind of required, he supposed.

That was why he wasn’t sitting in this warehouse waiting for a pyrokinetic teacher, he supposed.

 _She could have at least told me who it is,_ he thought to himself. All Talia told him was that Ra’s had found a telekinetic/telepath willing to show him the ropes, in exchange for his help on a mission, and that Batman would have already told him everything he needed to know about them. None of that boded very well, especially since Talia was still mad about him looking through her memories. He was mad at himself about it, too, if only because he’d tipped his hand on the whole mind reading thing. No wonder she didn’t want him around anymore.

He noticed a mind approaching, and it noticed him back. He quickly threw up his mental walls, pulled one of his guns from its holster, and slipped into the shadows. He was reasonably confident that this wasn’t all an elaborate assassination attempt, but it never hurt to be cautious.

He could hear footsteps approaching. Heavy footsteps. Too heavy. Whatever was coming was too big to be a normal human. Jason aimed his gun at the door the steps seemed to be approaching and tried to narrow down the possibilities. Usually, beings that could move things with their mind didn’t need a lot of muscle. It couldn’t be anyone reputable, given that they were willing to work with Ra’s, so who could-

The door swung open. What walked through it was definitely not a normal human. He wasn’t human, period.

Gorilla fucking Grodd was supposed to be his teacher? What the fuck, Ra’s?

He’d never met Grodd in person. The Flash was usually the one that dealt with him. Batman was a paranoid bastard, though, so Jason had memorized his profile, along with every other supervillain he might run into as Robin. He had the brute strength of a gorilla, the intellect and cruelty of a human, and enough psionic power to go toe-to-toe with the Fastest Man Alive. His plan of attack as Robin had always been ‘call for help and try not to die’.

Jason wasn’t Robin anymore, though, and if the seeds of his plan were to sprout, he needed to control his powers.

“Gotta admit, I did not see this coming,” he said aloud, lowering his gun (slightly) and stepping into the light.

It was truly impressive just how much disdain Grodd was able to put into his gaze as he looked Jason over. There wasn’t much to look at – standard assassin garb, a red mask, and enough weapons to turn any attempts at disarming him into a comedy. Jason felt something slam against his mental walls. He winced beneath the mask and redoubled his mental fortifications.

“Did your master not tell you of me?” Grodd asked, as if he wasn’t laying a psychic siege.

Jason bit back a retort. Showing insubordination would just pique Grodd’s interest, and the less he knew about him the better. “He told me he found a teacher. Wasn’t expecting it to be you. Could you cut that out?” he snapped, as another attack rammed into his mind.

“Consider this our first lesson.” Another blow, strong enough to nearly knock a wall down.

Jason’s hands automatically clenched, which was not ideal when one was holding a gun. He shoved it back into its holster and tried to shore up his defenses. “You could have at least got me dinner fir-“ He cut himself off with a hiss through gritted teeth. Telepath stuff wasn’t easy to describe in words, so the closest one he could think of to the latest attack was ‘wrecking ball’. Wait, that was two words. Shit, never mind, he needed to focus.

Jason tried his best, and managed to hold out for a little while, but in the end, he just wasn’t good enough, which might as well be the title of his biography. A focused, concentrated attack on a weak point Jason hadn’t even known was there had his defenses shattering like glass. To his surprise, however, Grodd didn’t press the advantage, drawing back instead.

The gorilla let out a grunt. “You are not completely hopeless.”

Jason tried to rub at his forehead to alleviate his newfound headache. Even with the mask in the way, the action was soothing. “Gee, no need for flattery, Teach.”

Grodd’s eyes narrowed as he looked Jason over again. “I was under the impression that your master does not tolerate glibness. How… curious.” Jason felt his mental presence start pressing in on his just reformed barriers. “Pique my curiosity further, and I shall have to satisfy it.”

Jason was fluent in Supervillain Mologue, so he knew that translated as ‘Shut the fuck up before I give you a lube-free mind-fuck’. “Yes, sir,” he said, with as much sarcasm as he could get away with. He stretched out a hand and floated over a chair to sit in.

“There is an object I require that is currently stored in a nearby lab, and I do not want anyone to know I have it,” Grodd explained. “I will teach you how to properly utilize your power, and in exchange you will infiltrate the lab, take the object, replace it with a fake, and bring the original back to me.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s a nice first draft of an outline of a plan. What exactly am I stealing?”

“Unimportant,” Grodd growled. “All you need to know is that it is stored in a black metal box with German written on it, and it will be heavily secured.”

Jason always hated it when Batman kept him on a need-to-know basis, and he’d thought the sun shone out of Bruce’s ass. When it was a dangerous supervillain bent on wiping out all of humanity keeping him on a need-to-know basis? He was seriously considering walking away and tracking down Martian Manhunter for training. But then Bruce would find out, and Jason wasn’t ready for that. He might never be ready for that.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Can you at least tell me what lab it’s in?”

“The local LexCorp branch.”

Ah. That… In a way it was better, because Lex Luthor was an asshole that deserved to have his shit stolen. In a way it was worse, because Lex Luthor was an asshole and anything he thought was worth developing was not something any sane person would want in Gorilla Grodd’s hands. Except…

“How come Luthor’s got a container with German on it?” Jason asked.

“I believe he… _procured_ it from an Austrian scientist that shortly thereafter died in a tragic accident.” Grodd rose to his feet again. “If you are as skilled as al Ghul claims, that will be more than enough information for you. You shall meet me here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock for our next lesson. I would advise you to rest and muster as much strength as possible.”

Jason bit back the urge to get the last word in as Grodd left. Once he was gone, he slipped out the window and started swinging and grappling his way back to the motel. He tried not to think about anything but the route and not slipping to his death. This wasn’t Gotham. He didn’t know the roofs and alleys like the back of his hand. It was a nice distraction.

Once he was back in his shitty motel room (which Talia no doubt meant as punishment, but he actually found familiar and almost comforting), he pulled out the laptop he’d been supplied with and started his research. Finding the blueprints for the building was insultingly easy, which meant that Lex had probably made a few unofficial additions that he wanted to throw people off the trail of. Once he’d memorized what the layout of the building was _supposed_ to be, he looked for Austrian scientists with mysterious deaths. Unfortunately, Grodd hadn’t given him enough to work with, which he was fully aware was the point.

Hacking into the LexCorp servers would be riskier if he tried it here, out of range of their local network, so he had little choice but to close the laptop and go to bed. Loathe as he was to admit it, Grodd was right. He’d need rest if he was to get through whatever psionic boot camp the gorilla had planned for him.

Just one problem: Going to sleep meant relaxing his mind, and that meant letting down his mental walls, and that meant letting in all the stray thoughts of the hundreds of people in telepathic range. The din had him automatically wrapping his pillow around his ears to try and block out the noise. _At least their thoughts aren’t as bad as the ones I had to deal with at the compound,_ he tried to assure himself. A particularly nauseating fetish immediately rose above the clamor for a moment before he threw his walls back up. _Except for that guy._

Exhaustion won out at some point after three. Next thing he knew, it was eight, his alarm was blaring, and he still felt tired. Ah, well. He was used to operating without much sleep. He ate a couple ration bars, reset the traps on his duffel bag, put his mask back on, and was back at the warehouse with fifteen minutes to spare. Nothing quite like the adrenaline rush of not quite sticking a landing and nearly falling off a roof to your death to get you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Grodd arrived at precisely nine o’clock. As soon as he was inside, Jason heard something whistling in the air behind him. He ducked and barely dodged the crate flying toward his head. It came to an abrupt stop mid-air and remained there as Grodd took a seat.

“I am not here to teach you to dodge,” he growled. “Stop it with your mind.”

“Is this how all our lessons are gonna start?” Jason asked.

Grodd threw the crate at him again. Jason stopped it and let it fall back to the ground. Or, at least, he tried to. Grodd had other ideas, and it got within a few inches of his face before he stopped it again and willed it to remain in place. He felt his metaphorical telekinetic muscles flex and strain as Grodd applied more and more pressure. The crate started creaking. He got sick of the game and gave it a hard mental shove. The crate exploded into twigs and splinters, which Grodd finally allowed to fall.

“You have some strength,” Grodd reluctantly admitted. He gestured to a non-exploded crate. “Open this.”

Jason was tempted to do it with his hands just to be contrary. His desire not to get his head ripped off won out, so he tried to will the crate open. He was, for the record, technically successful. The crate was definitely open. In fact, he’d gone above expectations and sent a good chunk of the siding flying off along with the lid.

Grodd didn’t ascribe to that point of view, unfortunately. “As I thought.” He paused. Jason wasn’t used to reading gorilla faces, but even with his telepathy blocked out he knew somebody mulling over how much to admit when he saw one. “Whatever you have in strength, you more than lack in dexterity, both telepathically and telekinetically. If you are to be an assassin, you cannot use brute force to overcome obstacles.”

Much as he might like to, Jason couldn’t exactly deny that. He knew exactly how many times dexterity and skill won out over raw strength. He’d done it enough as an underfed tween, and it was how Grodd could have found out all his secrets less than a day ago if he hadn’t felt so polite. So, he kept his mouth shut and let Grodd put him through his paces.

It was hard. And weird. Grodd had clearly never articulated some of the techniques he was trying to teach out loud. There was a point where Jason had to pinch himself because he realized a superpowered gorilla was telling him to use less tuba and more oboe to open a can of soup. Eventually Grodd got sick of his obvious, barely-restrained laughter and just shoved the thoughts directly into his head. It made things clearer, even if the sensation made Jason want to claw his brain out of his ears.

Hard and weird as it was, though, Jason had always been a fast learner. By the time Grodd called it quits for the day, he was able to somewhat reliably lift the lids off of crates and managed to cleanly open a soup can once, and he never even went to the White Hot Room. Now that he thought about it, that only really happened when he was straining himself, and the exercises were finicky, not straining.

Jason emerged from the warehouse and blinked in the sunlight. He checked his burner phone and realized it was nearly four in the afternoon. His stomach immediately growled, as if it hadn’t realized he was hungry until it was provided with proof that he should be. He slipped back to the motel, changed into civilian clothes just interesting enough to blend in (nothing shouted ‘suspicious’ like being completely bland, at least to anyone who knew what they were doing), put his laptop and wallet (complete with fake IDs) in a messenger bag, and set off toward LexCorp.

As expected, there was a diner so close to the building that it was still in range of the Lex wi-fi. There were a lot of pencil-pushers and low-ranking executives in the offices above the labs, and they’d want somewhere they could grab lunch and browse their social media feed on a secure connection. Or, at least, what they _thought_ was a secure connection. Jason wouldn’t put it past Lex to keep tabs on what his employees were doing. It was probably hidden in the terms of service to make sure nobody read it before agreeing.

The lunch rush was over, now, so Jason had no problem finding a booth in a corner to minimize on prying eyes. He gave the menu a quick glance, ordered a burger, said please and thank you to the waitress, and opened his laptop. First, he opened up a text document and wrote a boring introductory paragraph to an essay on the causes of the American Revolution. He needed something to alt-tab to whenever somebody went by. It hurt him a little inside to purposefully make grammatical and historical errors, but he was playing the part of an ordinary high school senior. Ordinary high school seniors weren’t reading Tolstoy in middle school.

Next, he had to get on the LexCorp network. He had the generic company password he’d been taught typed in and was about to hit enter before he remembered that that password was from almost three years ago. There _was_ a chance that it would still work, corporate bureaucracy being what it was, but the risk was too high. Instead, he opened up an innocuously named program that would brute force the password and cover its tracks. He was in within a minute.

He scrolled through the file list. Nothing on any experiments, not even the legal ones. The labs were officially listed, so that data must be kept on the lab computers. _It doesn’t matter, anyway,_ he told himself. _I don’t need to know what it is. I need to learn to control my powers, and this is my only option right now._

His waitress came over with his burger. He alt-tabbed back to his essay and moved his laptop to the side to make room for the plate. He was immensely grateful that she didn’t try to make conversation, opting instead to just give him his plate, tell him to enjoy his meal, and leave him to his work. Clearly, she was used to dealing with people trying to reach a deadline during their lunch break. He started eating his burger with one hand and opened up the security files with the other. The fact that they were there when the lab files weren’t meant that it was probably a misdirect, but the grain of truth within should be enough to get inside the building to a computer that _did_ have the information he needed to get in the labs.

By the time he was finished eating, he had a plan. Not a flawless one, exactly, but a plan nonetheless. A plan that he could technically do that very night. He was already exhausted, though, so it would be better to postpone it to another day when he could get some more rest. Plus, he didn’t want to wrap this up too soon. Grodd would probably bail the second he had his container, and Jason still had too much to learn.

He closed his laptop, paid the bill, left a generous tip, and walked out of the diner. The sun was setting, now. The smart thing to do would be to go back to the motel and try to get some sleep so he was ready for whatever Grodd had in store for him tomorrow. He dropped his walls to check on the telepathic chatter and immediately decided against it. Better to wait until people started going to sleep. He could still hear them dreaming, but it was always far-away and muted enough to be ignored.

The question, then, was how he would pass the evening. He found his answer in the thoughts of a mugger scoping out victims. He gave him a psychic jab to throw him off his game and hurried back to his motel to change and grab his grappling hook and weapons.

He crouched on the edge of a roof, overlooking the city, and found himself missing Gotham’s architecture. There wasn’t a gargoyle to be seen, and he kinda felt like talking to someone. He hadn’t talked to someone without having to carefully consider every word and gesture since… since _before_. He shook off the thought. It didn’t matter. He was being stupid. Being on patrol again was bringing back old memories and making him sentimental.

He reached out with his mind, metaphorical ears pricked for malice and distress. Telepathy made _something_ easier, at least. It actually felt like cheating. He would have been sorely tempted to not use it and give the criminals a fair chance if he wasn’t worried about missing something and unknowingly allowing an innocent to get hurt.

This city was nowhere near as bad as Gotham, but he still had plenty to do to while away the time. A drug dealer got both legs broken, the mugger from earlier got his fingers crushed under a dumpster lid, a drug dealer dealing to kids out of desperation got a perforated kidney and unsubtle telepathic suggestion to change his ways, yadda yadda yadda. It was… weird, being back on patrol alone. He kept automatically looking over his shoulder to see how Batman was holding up, or starting a team move and having to do some fast thinking to change it into a solo one. Maybe that’s why he didn’t kill anyone. Or maybe he was still too scared to.

It was one thing to imagine killing the madman that had tortured and murdered you. It was another to look another living, breathing human being in the eye and pull the trigger. It was yet another to do it when you knew what was going through their head and just how terrified they were.

Jason sat on the edge of the roof of the apartment he’d just rescued from robbery and checked his phone. It was nearly midnight. No missed calls or texts from Talia or his… or any other numbers he recognized. Considering the few texts he’d gotten, the missed calls were probably scams, too. There wasn’t too much he could do about that, and the psychic static had gone down a good few decibels, so he decided to do one last sweep and then go back to bed.

He closed his eyes and focused. There were a couple students trying to finish assignments due tomorrow, one saleswoman trying to finish a presentation due tomorrow, a kid up past their bedtime hiding under the covers with a flashlight and a good book, a man coming home from a late shift excited to see his daughter so he could…

No. _Hell_ no. _Fuck_ no.

Jason reached out toward the daughter, just to be certain, and… God. _God_ , she didn’t even realize that what was happening to her wasn’t normal. He shifted his mental gaze a few rooms over to see if he needed to ‘take care’ of the mom, too. He didn’t. She had no idea. She’d overlooked every red flag, rationalized every bruise, denied all the things screaming in her face that this wasn’t the life of white picket fences she wanted it to be.

The stone of the roof cracked under Jason’s fingers. He heard the crash of a dozen windows breaking, and a few seconds later the tinkling of the shards shattering against the sidewalk. He took a deep breath, dropped down to the ground, and went to intercept him.

Jason waited for him in a dark alley two blocks away from his apartment. He had to psychically cut himself off again, or else he would have run out and killed the sicko right in the middle of the street with who knew how many night owls and security cameras to bear witness. Plus, it meant he could focus solely on deciding exactly how much he should make him suffer as he heard his footsteps draw closer and closer.

He had a plan when he finally arrived. He made sure his mental walls were firmly in place, grabbed him, slammed him into a wall, pressed his gun under his chin, and -

And he’d miscalculated. In his anger, he’d forgotten all those lessons on gun safety and had his finger already on the trigger. That alone might not have meant anything were it not combined with the man’s proximity and terror shredding through his mental barriers as surely as Grodd had. For good and ill, Jason had always been an empathetic person, easily affected by the emotions of others, and becoming a telepathic person cranked it up to eleven. His body’s startle response activated, and in the process his trigger finger accidentally applied those five pounds of pressure needed to fire.

Jason was already pressed against the opposite wall, nearby dumpster levitating in front of him as a shield, by the time the body hit the ground and he realized what had happened. Once he did, he put the dumpster back in place and swallowed down the bile crawling up his throat.

“Stop it,” he whispered to his thundering heart and lungs that refused to take any breaths deeper than a kiddie pool. He’d known he was going to kill him the second he noticed him. He’d made peace with the idea of killing months ago. There was no longer a mind to infect him with its terror. He quickly shut himself off once he realized that he was now the one infecting other minds with terror. He needed to stop shaking and get away before people started investigating their sudden bad feeling.

 _There’s something you need to do first,_ said the practical part of him. And, _This is why you need training. You can’t give everybody around a heart attack every time you kill someone._

_I don’t want to kill again. I can’t. He was so scared and he felt the bullet-_

He shut down that part of himself quickly. Last time he listened to that part, it ended with a crowbar and a bomb. It was the part that had Batman tacitly allowing graveyards to be filled with innocents. That part of him died in that warehouse, and he’d keep telling himself that until it became true.

He knelt next to the man _(his name was Tyler – no, no, it didn’t matter, stop it)_ and patted him down until he found his wallet. He ignored the photos (that would actually make him throw up, and he couldn’t leave any more evidence) and rifled through until he found some business cards. He flipped one over to the blank side, pulled out a pen (for all that he was wrong about, he remembered Batman’s lessons about being prepared), and wrote in as neutral a font as possible, _Check my hard-drive._ Monsters like him always had something on their hard-drive, and that girl wasn’t going to get the help she needed if her mom didn’t have irrefutable proof shoved in her face. He slipped the card into his shirt pocket, put the wallet back where he’d found it, and grappled away.

He couldn’t stop shaking. His mind’s eye was stuck on loop and strong enough that it was practically superimposed on reality. He broke into a pharmacy and stole some sleeping pills before he went back to the motel. He knew he wasn’t getting a wink of sleep otherwise. He made sure to get the no-dreaming kind. If he had a nightmare, he might just burn the entire city down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for such a positive response. I think I'll add the relevant tags as we go along. Idk what else to say, other than sorry for any inaccuracies regarding hacking.


	3. Gaze Into Thee

“I have a plan,” Jason said as soon as Grodd entered the warehouse.

He’d had a plan for weeks, now, but Grodd didn’t need to know that. He might not have brought it up for another few weeks if Grodd’s impatience weren’t becoming so apparent.

Grodd raised an eyebrow, or the gorilla equivalent. “A plan to fulfill our agreement?”

Jason nodded. “I snuck into LexCorp and hacked their systems. I know where your Maltese Falcon or whatever is, and I know how to get past their security.”

“Why didn’t you just read their minds?” Grodd asked.

Jason was suddenly very glad for the mask, and for all the defensive telepathic training, because the urge to kick himself was so strong that it definitely would have showed. _Holy shit, that would have been so much easier._ “I… don’t want to rely too much on my powers,” he said aloud. It’s not like it was a lie. “Plus, this is LexCorp we’re talking about. There might’ve been someone with the training to notice me, and then they might’ve gotten suspicious about you being involved.” Also not a lie.

“To each his own,” Grodd grunted, which was Supervillain Monologue for ‘I think you’re wrong but I don’t want to argue right now’. It meant that in a lot of languages, actually. “How long will this plan take?”

“No more than an hour,” Jason smirked.

Grodd regarded him with carefully cultivated blankness as he took his usual seat. Finally, he said, “Do it tonight. This shall be our final lesson.”

And there was the reason Jason hadn’t brought it up the moment he had all the pieces in place. Ideally, he would have drawn it out until he felt completely in control of his powers. Practically, he was lucky Grodd hadn’t already gotten sick of waiting and tried to kill him. He’d just have to make do with the training he had, figure the rest out himself, and try to use sheer brute force to defeat any more experienced telepathic opponents. Judging by what little Grodd had said on the subject, and by the far more numerous things he hadn’t said, he had a lot of raw power. Maybe too much.

Luckily, Grodd’s lesson didn’t leave much room to dwell on that idea. Getting unforgivingly tested on every single thing he’d worked on in the last month or so by a teacher that thought it wasn’t a real test if he wasn’t in constant danger of dying was… actually kind of fun, really. Jason had always liked learning and showing off how much he’d improved. He couldn’t help but grin beneath the mask as he lifted crates, smashed them to wood chips, put up telekinetic barriers strong enough to stop a hail of gunfire, and whatever other tests Grodd could come up with. The more delicate stuff was more of a pain, and he nearly went to the White Hot Room during a telepathic spar, but overall he felt pretty good about it.

“Do supervillains do report cards?” Jason asked once the final exam was concluded. “Ra’s doesn’t, but I figured he might be an outlier.”

“Your progress is acceptable,” said Grodd, once again ignoring Jason’s attempts at humor. It was probably a good thing. If he acknowledged it, he’d be reputationally obligated to kill him. “Wait.” He got to his feet and lumbered around a corner and out of sight. The temptation to reach out and see what he was doing had barely grown to a tickle by the time he came back, black box with German writing in hand. “Here is the decoy. I shall be here at midnight to receive my payment.”

Jason took the box and held it under one arm so he could give a mocking-in-the-right-light salute. “Yes, sir.” He quickly slipped into the shadows, out the window, and onto the roof.

When he was certain nobody was looking, he took off his mask so he could take a deep breath of fresh air. Or, at least, what seemed like fresh air compared to what he’d gotten used to in Gotham. At this point, he was pretty sure all the air there had trace elements of fear toxin and Jo-

He leaned back so that he was lying down and covered his face with his hands. _Deep breaths. Think of calming imagery._ He remembered the smell and taste of Alfred’s hot chocolate, the smell and feel of a new book, Bruce’s cool shoulder cushioning Jason’s feverish cheek as they watched a movie. That had all been calming, once upon a time. Those memories were tainted now, because they were paving the path to a warehouse in Ethiopia. And he knew, deep in his heart, that no matter what path he took in the future, he’d never be that happy again. Happiness and peace and family were only reflections in the rear-view mirror, growing further away and more distorted by the second.

He didn’t realize that his vision was going white at the edges until he felt hot tears against his skin, bringing him back to reality. He let his hands fall to his sides and blinked in the sunlight. Why was he freaking out so much? He’d thought about the Joker before without having a panic attack. What the hell had triggered him?

In another time, he would have shrugged it off and moved on, in the grand Bat tradition. That wasn’t an option anymore now that his panic attacks could accidentally kill people. He tried to imagine himself back in the office of the therapist he’d seen a couple times before he decided beating the shit out of people was a much better way to deal with trauma. Not the greatest decision, in hindsight. He couldn’t even remember her name, but he did remember her asking him to recount the events leading up to one of the episodes he’d actually been able to talk to her about. She’d suggested that him not finding the book he’d been looking forward to at the store put him in a negative mindset and left him more open to triggers.

He had no idea how accurate that had been, but he couldn’t come up with a better explanation at the time. He wasn’t quite sure what would have put him in a negative mindset today, though. He’d aced his final exam, no matter how reluctant Grodd was to admit it.

_And what was the cost of those skills?_

Jason struggled to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. He refused to look at the box. He refused to wonder what was in the actual box. He refused to think about how much destruction it could cause. He only let himself think that the Flash had been stopping Grodd’s plans for years. He’d be able to stop this one.

_Will he be able to stop it before people get hurt?_

Jason sprang to his feet, grabbed the container, and headed back to the motel to store it safely until nightfall. He needed to go on patrol and not think about anything beyond the hunt.

* * *

The clock on the screen hit ten. Jason shut his laptop and put it down in a particularly shadowy spot on the roof where nobody would see it. One last check in his backpack confirmed none of his supplies had dematerialized in the last five minutes. No point procrastinating anymore.

He quickly made his way to an openable first-floor window just out of sight of any security cameras. Regulations said that all such windows were supposed to have motion-detecting alarms to let security know when it was opened, but the alarm on this particular window had been broken about a week ago and maintenance hadn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. Even the most state-of-the-art security systems were only as reliable as the people in charge of them, and few people lost money betting on human error.

With the locations of all the cameras in his path memorized, it was easy to sneak over to a computer with access to the security network and feed a loop to the cameras he couldn’t avoid. From there, it was a simple matter of dodging cameras and guards and using some nifty League of Assassins tools to feed the scanners the biometric data he’d procured from ‘accidentally’ bumping into the appropriate scientists on the street.

Everything was going smoothly. So smoothly that it made Jason anxious. Whenever things seemed to be going exactly how he wanted, it was usually because the universe was winding up for a good throat punch.

He opened the door to where the container was supposed to be, fully expecting to find nothing or a bunch of security guards or anything else unexpected. Instead, he found what he’d wanted; a perfect match for the decoy in his bag. He walked over and pulled out a scanner to make sure there weren’t any surprise pressure plates on the table. All he found was that his skill in reading both out of his peripheral vision and in German was as good as ever, because he finally couldn’t avoid taking in some of the words on it.

Words like biohazard, handle with care, and extremely contagious.

Fuck.

Jason closed his eyes and tried to take a deep, calming breath. _Goodbye, willful ignorance, it was nice knowing you._ He could handle the idea of handing a vaguely dangerous package over to someone like Gorilla Grodd. It was an egg he could break to make the omelet of making Batman see sense and helping him make the world a better place. But now it was in the grey area of vagueness where he knew just enough to pique his curiosity and _have_ to know more.

He grabbed the box and replaced it with the decoy, because whatever he chose to do next, he’d rather do it knowing Lex Luthor would get a burst blood vessel down the line when he realized he had a fake.

He hacked into one of the lab computers. For once that night, he’d have to be a bit cautious, since this was his first time on the server. It was easy to find the information he needed, since LexCorp didn’t have a whole lot of files in German. He was no epidemiologist, and even the English translation mostly went over his head, but he knew enough to know that the virus sitting in his backpack was very much A Bad Thing. The only good thing about it was that it wasn’t airborne, and according to the files it wasn’t for lack of trying. Apparently, Lex was planning on perfecting the virus, unleashing it on the populace, and then looking like a hero when he created a cure.

Jason shut off the computer and leaned against the desk. He couldn’t do this. Grodd was going to use the virus to wipe out as much of humanity as he could. Even if Jason warned the Justice League and sent along all the information Lex had on it, thousands of people would be dead by the time they synthesized a cure.

But if Jason didn’t do it, Grodd would kill him. He knew his telepathic signature well enough to track down, and he’d never taught him how to hide it, probably for this exact reason. Jason might technically be the stronger psionic, but Grodd was the more skilled one. He _might_ be able to beat him in a physical fight, with the right tricks, but that was a big fucking _might_.

Jason looked at himself in the dark computer screen. Seeing himself dressed like one of Ra’s’ pet assassins already made him feel sick. If he went through with this, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to look himself in the mirror again.

He slipped back out of the building without any incident. Good. He needed to devote as much brainpower as possible to planning how the fuck he was supposed to kill Gorilla Grodd. Running away would just delay the inevitable. Better to make a stand here and now. He could set some traps in the warehouse. Maybe he could get him angry enough to make stupid mistakes.

Victory was possible. Not probable, and barely teetering on the edge of plausible, but definitely possible. 

Out of habit, he left his mind open, so he realized that Grodd was already in the warehouse long before he arrived. He quickly closed himself off again, swearing and praying that Grodd hadn’t noticed his current emotional state. _Of course_ this _is the time he chose to be early. Okay. No chance to set up any traps, then. There goes plausibility._ It was too late to turn back, so he continued, the box in his backpack feeling heavier and heavier with every swing.

He stopped at the door to try and compose himself. Here he was, about to enter another warehouse with a supervillain lying in wait in order to try and do the right thing. Whoever or whatever had brought him back to life was either laughing its head off or performing a facepalm of cosmic proportions. He closed his eyes. Maybe it was just willful thinking, but he could have sworn that all sensation in his body felt more distant, the black of his eyelids went a few shades paler, and he heard a discordant choir of white noise pulse in his mind like a heartbeat.

Jason had an idea. A stupid idea that could backfire horribly on everybody in the vicinity. An idea that was dead last on his all too short list of resorts.

Jason opened the door and walked in.

Grodd was waiting. He said nothing as Jason approached. It figured that the one time Jason could have used a supervillain monologue as a distraction, Grodd decided to just let him sweat.

Jason took off his backpack and pulled out the container. Grodd’s eyes lit up as he reached out to take it. Jason’s stupid insightful brain noticed how his hands dwarfed his own, and noted how easy it would be for Grodd to snap his neck like a twig. _Last chance,_ his self-preservation instinct whispered. _Just hand it over and walk away. If you don’t, he will not make your death quick._

The virus wouldn’t make any of its victims’ deaths quick, either.

It was simple math. One life that had been mentally preparing for its end since he was ten years old, or thousands with hope and dreams and the ability to bring good things into the world rather than just take the bad things out. The equation had a big red strike through the equals sign.

The box crumpled in his hands with a groan of metal and tinkling of glass. The virus wouldn’t survive exposure to an uncontrolled environment.

Jason had just enough time to erect a shoddy telekinetic shield around himself before Grodd realized what he’d done. A huge gorilla hand immediately tried to wrap around his neck. The shield was small enough that Grodd technically succeeded, and Jason did feel some pressure, but he could still breathe and focus on defending his mind from Grodd’s onslaught.

He’d suspected that Grodd was holding back during training. He hadn’t realized just how much. Within ten seconds Jason realized that he couldn’t hold out. Not if he stayed on the defensive, anyway.

He let his walls drop and threw himself at Grodd’s mind with all his might. For the first time, he succeeded at breaking his walls. His pride in that, already marred by the fact that Grodd was taken by surprise and not defending himself, was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer _hatred_ he found in his mind. His loathing for humanity was intense enough that Jason felt like it was about to tear out of his chest.

Grodd quickly took advantage of his shock to kick him back out. “Why?” he growled aloud. “If al Ghul wished me dead, he would not have sent a child.”

“This isn’t about him,” Jason grunted. Even with the force field, he didn’t have much room for talking. “This is all me.”

Grodd tilted his head quizzically. “Conscience, then?” He laughed. “You won’t last long with one of those. Allow me to speed up the process.” He lifted Jason off the ground and threw him, his already formidable strength helped along by a telekinetic push.

Jason’s shield held as he went crashing through the wall and rolled to a stop on the street outside. He didn’t break anything, but he’d still rate the experience a 2/10, would not recommend. He sprang to his feet and dodged to the side as Grodd came leaping out through the hole in the wall and slammed his fists down where his head had been. Jason pulled out a gun and opened fire on him. A moment later he heard the bullets bounce off a telekinetic shield and hit the ground in a series of _plinks_ , and felt Grodd attack his mind again.

Jason spotted a sturdy-looking car parked nearby and, without any thought on how heavy and difficult to lift a car should be, telekinetically threw it at Grodd. It distracted him and gave Jason enough breathing room to throw a shock shuriken at him. Grodd was too busy redirecting the car to notice. Jason barely dodged away from the car, and the shuriken hit Grodd in the shoulder. He let out a pained roar and ripped it out. He was too big for the electric charge to incapacitate him, but it did throw him off enough for Jason to try and telekinetically crush his skull. A dirty move, sure, but after that look in his mind Jason wouldn’t shed any tears over his death.

 _Something_ happened. Grodd clutched his head and screamed, and stupid, _stupid_ Jason was so focused that he forgot to keep his mental walls up. A wave of agony crashed into him like a tsunami, and Grodd wasn’t far behind, crashing into him physically and psychically like a truck.

There wasn’t any room for thought with fingers clawing through his mind and slamming his head into the concrete. Only instinct. It kept him alive, and nothing more. The pain of having his thoughts and memories ripped apart kept him too dazed to kick Grodd out, and he _had_ to get Grodd out, he couldn’t let him-

_Jason bounced after Batman, adrenaline still thrumming through his system. He grinned and changed course when he spotted Alfred holding a post-patrol snack. “Hey, Alfie!”_

_“Hello, Master Jason.” Alfred turned to Bruce, who was now sitting at the computer. “Master Bruce, must I remind you that you have a meeting tomorrow morning?”_

_“I remember,” Bruce grunted, already looking through case files._

_Jason grabbed a sandwich and sat down to enjoy the show._

_“Must I remind you, then, that a good night’s sleep is imperative to making a good first impression?”_

_“I won’t be long.”_

_Alfred looked at Jason as if he was the camera on_ The Office _before continuing. “I vividly recall you saying that this is an important deal for Wayne Enterprises to remain on the cutting edge of_

Even with a cracked skull, Grodd connected the dots. Jason felt his surprise and glee at learning Batman’s true identity as surely as if they were his own. Perhaps, in turn, Grodd felt Jason’s panic and horror. Jason couldn’t check. He was too busy enacting his last resort.

He latched onto Grodd’s presence and dragged him down with him into the White Hot Room.

It was his first time going there on purpose. It was still incomprehensible and overwhelming, but he felt a bit more collected and aware. He quickly realized that this was not a good thing.

He’d always had the vague feeling that there was something else in there with him. He tried not to think about it, and it was easy not to when it never actually did anything. It was just… there. When he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what it was, he thought that maybe it was sleeping.

Well, if it had been sleeping, it was definitely awake now.

If there could be ripples in a weird mind room, then they were crashing into Jason hard enough to make getting thrown through a wall feel like a gentle kiss. If there could be the concept of space and positioning, then _it_ was rising between Jason and Grodd. If mysterious beings that lived in weird mind rooms could have gazes, then it rested solely on Grodd.

Jason would have felt sorry for him if _its_ very presence weren’t already maxing out his capacity for emotions with terror.

What happened next was… Jason didn’t know what happened next. He’d thought everything involving the White Hot Room was incomprehensible and indescribable before. Now, it was… ineffable. Too great for a finite mind like his to understand. Like he’d been thrust into a Lovecraft story that ended with him gibbering in a straightjacket for the rest of his life. He might well have, if he hadn’t been abruptly yanked to a far-off corner where Grodd’s presence was nearly as distant as physical sensation. Even so, he suspected he’d have nightmares about what he little he managed to sense.

Next thing he knew, he was awake, lying on his back on hard concrete with something heavy on top of him. He could barely breathe, the usual migraine was making itself as home, and his body ached with the promise of bruises, but he was alive, in one piece, and relatively sane. He couldn’t sense Grodd at all, so he felt safe enough to lay there, staring up at the light-polluted sky, until he felt he could move without throwing up. He lifted his head up and realized the thing on him was Grodd’s arm.

He’d already thrown the arm off and scrabbled back a few feet before he realized what Grodd’s physical presence and mental absence must mean. He slowly rose to his feet with minimal swaying and walked toward him, wincing as each step sent shockwaves to his brain. He knelt next to Grodd’s head. His eyes were closed, and his expression was that of someone sleeping. Cautiously, just in case this was all some weird telepathic trick, Jason reached out and pressed his fingers against his jugular. Or, at least, where he hoped the jugular was. He wasn’t exactly an expert on gorilla physiology.

He found a steady pulse, eventually, and, when he leaned in close, he could hear him breathing. Jason mentally swept the area with a fine-toothed comb, and with an eye-crossing amount of effort he sensed a whisper of a ghost of an echo of a dream. Grodd’s body was alive, but his mind was all but obliterated.

Jason stood up again and clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking. He’d known that going to the White Hot Room would end badly. That was why it was a last resort. This was probably the best way it could have possibly ended. Jason was unharmed (mostly), hadn’t set anything on fire or destroyed anything (besides a wall and a car), and Grodd wasn’t telling anyone that Batman was Bruce Wayne for the foreseeable future.

None of that changed the fact that Jason had been brushing shoulders with some sort of eldritch fucking horror for months, and said horror was the most likely candidate for the source of his powers and resurrection.

 _No time to think about that,_ he scolded himself as the sound of sirens drew nearer. _You need to get out of here._

He did so, grappling and swinging back to the motel. Or tried to, anyway. He got about halfway there before he had to acknowledge his shakiness and the flashbacks running on loop. He sat down on a convenient roof and ripped off his mask so he could breathe.

_What does it want?_

_Why did it pick me?_

_If it wanted to hurt me, wouldn’t it have done it already?_

_Maybe it was trying to protect me from Grodd._

_Maybe it didn’t like an uninvited guest in its room._

_Maybe it’s coming up with a punishment for me for bringing somebody else there._

_Maybe it’s all in my imagination._

_Then what the fuck happened to Grodd?_

Jason pulled out his phone. The screen was cracked, but it dialed Talia’s number just the same. He hugged his knees to his chest with one arm while he waited for her to pick up.

Finally, the phone clicked. “Hello? Who is this?” she asked. Standard assassin call etiquette. You never knew who might get their hands on an agent’s phone.

It was a testament to how fucked up his life was that the sound of her voice had Jason relaxing and letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “It’s done. I’m ready for extraction,” he said.

A pause. Jason would have wished he could read her mind if the thought of using his powers didn’t make him want to scream. “We’ve received no word from your teacher.”

“He’s not gonna be talking any time soon.”

Another pause. “Define ‘soon’.” _Did you kill him?_

Jason shrugged, for all the good that did over a phone call. “He’s not dead, technically, but it’d take a miracle for him to wake up again.”

“I see. Do you need a medic?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

 _Damn. I must sound as bad as I feel._ “I didn’t say I was fine, I said I don’t need a medic,” he snapped.

An exhale of static came over the line. “Very well. You will be picked up by car. I will send you the coordinates when this call is finished. You have done well.”

A puzzle piece clicked into place. “Wait. Is this what you wanted all along?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Did you want me to kill Grodd?”

Another pause. Jason could feel the tension in it, this time. “It was an outcome I deemed acceptable.”

Jason knew her well enough to notice an odd emphasis on _I_. “And what about your father? What was he hoping would happen?”

“That is no business of yours,” said Talia, and Jason knew that he’d hit the nail on the head. “Proceed to the pick-up location as soon as possible.” She hung up before he could ask any more awkward questions.

He dropped the phone and rested his head on his knees. So, Ra’s wanted him dead. That explained why he chose Grodd, instead of some other morally dubious telepath/telekinetic. Jason couldn’t think of any off the top of his head, but he was sure there must be some out there who weren’t practically guaranteed to try and kill him. It was a classic Uriah gambit. Put an underling you don’t like on a suicide mission so that you win no matter if they die or succeed. At worst, Jason would become a more skilled asset. At best, two possible threats to Ra’s’ plans would kill each other.

Jason’s phone pinged. It was the coordinates. They weren’t far from the motel. He was feeling a lot steadier now, so it would be easy to grab his stuff and leave this all far, far behind him.

Should he, though? He was back in the US. There wasn’t anything stopping him from grabbing his fake IDs, getting on a plane to Gotham, and going _home_. At that moment, he didn’t care about being replaced and unavenged. He just wanted to see Bruce and Alfred again.

But… what if that was what _it_ wanted? What if Batman had somehow pissed it off and it decided the best way to hurt him would be to bring his dead sidekick back and… and… do something bad. But then why give Jason any free will? It was a stupid theory with a lot of holes, but now that it was in his head, it wouldn’t leave.

At least with Talia, he didn’t have to worry about losing control and hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it.

The car was already there when he arrived. He knew it was the right one, because, to his surprise, Talia herself was in the driver’s seat. He waved to her as he approached, put the duffel bag in the trunk, and sat in the passenger seat.

“You forgot to change,” said Talia, starting up the car.

Jason looked down and realized that he was still in his black infiltration garb. At least he wasn’t wearing his mask. Then he remembered that that was because he’d completely forgotten about it on a random rooftop. “Just don’t get pulled over, and it’ll be fine,” he said.

Talia drove in silence for a few minutes. Jason stared out the window at the nearly empty early-morning streets, counting streetlamps and reading every sign he could, like he usually did during silent car-rides. Talia still knew something was wrong, even if she didn’t say anything about it.

Eventually, he got tired of listening to her increasingly ludicrous theories and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I didn’t-“ Talia’s hands clenched around the steering wheel, and she started using some anti-telepath techniques. “I told you not to do that anymore.”

Jason sighed and leaned his head against the window. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…” _I’m just scared of closing myself off because I don’t want to lock myself in with the thing that turned one of the most powerful telepaths on the planet into a drooling vegetable._ “It’s been a long day.”

Things were blessedly quiet for another few minutes. Once they were out of the city limits, Talia said, “Do you need time to recover before we find you a pyrokinetic teacher?”

Jason couldn’t stop himself from shuddering at the thought. Talia immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road. Before he could ask her what she was doing, she was resting the back of her hand against his forehead. He swatted it away. “For the- I’m not sick, Talia!”

Talia narrowed her eyes and gave his face a thorough once-over. “You are clearly not well, Jason. You refuse to tell me your mental state, so I can only check on your physical wellness.”

Jason took a few deep breaths before he spoke. “I’m… I don’t want pyrokinetic training. I don’t want any sort of meta training. The less I use my powers, the better.”

Talia’s surprise spiked through her techniques. “Why?”

“I don’t. Want. To talk. About. It.”

Jason closed his eyes and listened to Talia’s fingers drum against the steering wheel in thought. “We’ll discuss this when you feel better,” she said, starting the car up again.

“Wait.” He opened the car door and went back to the trunk. He rifled through the duffel bag until he found a bottle of sleeping pills. He went back to his seat and held the bottle up so Talia could see what it was. “You really don’t want me to have a nightmare right now.”

“I understand.” She pulled back onto the highway. “Sleep well.”

Jason dry swallowed slightly more than the recommended amount and watched the terrain fly past until sweet oblivion claimed him.


	4. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for attempted rape.

Even after he’d gotten some sleep and was thinking a lot straighter, Jason stood by his decision to use his powers as little as possible. He shouldn’t have been using them so much in the first place, considering he knew nothing about how he’d gotten them nor the price tag attached. For all he knew, every time he telekinetically grabbed something out of reach some puppy on the other side of the universe died horribly.

He’d use his powers in matters of life and death, but otherwise he’d much rather rely on his own skill and prowess. He’d done just fine as a vigilante without superpowers, and he could do it again.

Talia wasn’t as confident in his abilities. He supposed she had a point, given the whole dying thing. She had him training harder than ever in every field she could think of. He liked gunplay the most, because every time he pulled the trigger it was a middle finger to all of Batman’s stupid ideals. Some of the exercises she had him doing could have killed someone less capable. Jason was more than up to the challenge.

The days started blending together. So much so, in fact, that it came as a complete surprise when Talia handed him a box tied closed with ribbon and said, “Happy birthday.”

It took him a couple seconds to realize that, yes, it was August 16th. He was eighteen. A legal adult. It was… weird to think about. He’d functionally been an adult ever since his dad died and his mom (Catherine, not Sheila, never Sheila) couldn’t take care of him anymore. Bruce and Alfred tried to give him his childhood back, and even amidst the rage and betrayal he could appreciate that, but it was futile from day one. He just redirected the sense of responsibility into being Robin.

“Uh… thanks.” He took the box from her and swiftly opened it. Within lay a dagger with a wavy blade – no, a kris. He took it out of the box and gave it an experimental twirl. It was a thing of beauty in both appearance and balance. With a lot more enthusiasm, he said, “Whoa. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Her expression morphed into one that he’d never seen on her before, but nonetheless set off all sorts of alarm bells. “My father thought a valuable asset like yourself needs a worthy weapon.”

And there went Jason’s good mood. “I’m not his asset. Or yours.”

Talia’s jaw clenched slightly. Such a brazen display of emotion had Jason instinctively shift into a more combat-ready stance. “He would like to change that,” she said. “He has asked me to bring you to him so that you may discuss your future.”

Shit. He wasn’t surprised, except at the fact that Ra’s hadn’t given the order earlier. It still sucked. “I’m guessing he isn’t interested in my college plans.”

Talia closed her eyes for a moment before she spoke. “No. Let me make this clear, Jason. If you want to stay here, you must see him.”

“And if I don’t?” Jason asked.

Talia didn’t say anything. She just stared at his face intensely, as if she thought she’d never see him again and was trying to memorize every detail.

Jason suddenly understood. She was trying to tell him, as directly as she could while allowing herself plausible deniability in case anyone was listening, that if he didn’t want to spend a long time under Ra’s’ thumb or a short time dying painfully, he had to leave _now_. She wasn’t happy with any of those options, but at least she was giving him a choice.

“I understand,” he said, doing a little staring of his own. He was actually going to miss her. She’d been as good to him as somebody as morally bankrupt as her could be. He had no doubt that Ra’s would have tried to snatch him up a long time ago if she hadn’t tried so hard to protect him. As far as mother figures went, he’d had much worse.

He was sorely tempted to hug her goodbye. Before he could, she said, “Go pack your things, then. We’ll leave tonight.” Then she turned and left the training room.

Jason had to stand there staring dumbly at the door to process what was happening. This compound wasn’t his home. It never had been. The idea of leaving should slot perfectly into place. It wasn’t supposed to feel like he was trying to jam a square pet into a round hole. It wasn’t home, but it was familiar and relatively safe.

He pushed those rebellious feelings down and went back to his room to pack. Unwanted attachments or not, he’d been preparing for this for a while. Part of his training had been ‘independent study’, i.e. getting dumped in the middle of a strange city with meager supplies and an objective he could just barely stomach. Said supplies usually included money and a fake ID, and Jason had ‘lost’ a good amount of both in his pockets when it was time to hand everything back to Talia. Along with his surreptitious raids of non-perishable food from the kitchens, he was confident he could make it to the nearest settlement. He’d figure things out from there.

Getting past security wasn’t exactly easy – the compound was meant to keep people in as well as it kept them out – but with a year of observation he was able to do it without setting off any alarms or using his powers. Once he was clear, he steered clear of the main road and, unless the sun had changed direction when he wasn’t looking, headed west. He’d seen a river there. If he followed it far enough, he was bound to find some sort of civilization before he starved to death.

The terrain was uneven, littered with tripping hazards, and far too exposed and devoid of cover for a runaway’s liking. And yet even with so much energy devoted to maintaining his footing and keeping his senses peeled for pursuers, his stupid brain still managed to do some thinking. It didn’t even have the decency to think about practical stuff, like what route he should aim for and a backstory for his travelling identity.

He thought about how it was his eighteenth birthday. If he’d listened to literally anyone he’d trusted and not gone after Sheila, he’d be preparing for college. He’d probably be buried in all the gifts Bruce got him to make sure he had everything he might possibly need before moving out. At this time of day, they’d probably be having a small get-together with whatever superhero friends he might’ve made over the years. That was the real birthday party, not the gala Brucie Wayne was (possibly legally) required to throw. Jason would put off getting ready for it for as long as he could before Alfred came knocking at his door with a tux and disappointed expression.

Or maybe teenage angst and desire for independence would’ve driven a wedge between him and Bruce, just like it had with Dick. Maybe all the bullying would’ve gotten to him and he’d start hating school and drop out like they all expected him to. Maybe the Joker or some other villain would have still found a way to get him alone and helpless and dead. All those situations were about as likely as the pipe dream making his eyes and throat burn with tears.

He had to stop thinking about what should and might have been. If he wasn’t careful enough, what actually was would kill him. Again. And he really didn’t want to see what the thing in the White Hot Room would do then.

* * *

It took Jason four days to reach a village. It was a tiny place without a so much as a bus stop or any fluent English speakers, but Jason remembered enough Urdu and had enough rupees to get some supplies and directions. The people there didn’t seem very surprised to see a young (mostly) white man randomly show up. He must be far from the first assassin to make a pitstop on the road to freedom. That made it far more likely that Ra’s had eyes on the place, though, so he left as quickly as he could and didn’t light a fire that night. Hooray for dormant pyrokinesis making warmth a non-issue.

The next day, paranoia and a pinch of loneliness had him open his mind to see if anyone was around. There wasn’t a single mind in range. It was nice. He could pretend that he was a normal human on the run from assassins led by a centuries-old maniac. It also let him enjoy the scenery and actual, real fresh air. He could see why people found the idea of backpacking through Europe so appealing, even if he was pretty sure he was somewhere in Pakistan. Once he got out of runaway assassin territory, he might be able to pull off the ‘stupid rich American kid taking a gap year’ persona.

A couple days later, after another stop in another tiny village, assassins started getting in telepathic range. The early warning system made them easy to avoid, but it still had him picking up the pace a little. The villagers told him there was a town with a train station not far to the north. Once he got there, he could stow away on a train headed west and lose himself in a big city. From there, he could prepare to go back to Gotham.

Walking through the wilderness gave him lots of time to plan and plot and all that good stuff. Theoretically, he could try and make a new life for himself far away from Gotham and try to move on. Theoretically, he could also randomly transform into a snowman, according to quantum mechanics. He was going back. For good or ill, Gotham was where he belonged. It needed him. It needed somebody to paint its streets red with the scum Batman refused to stop.

That wouldn’t be enough, though. Not even simple revenge would be enough. The thought of killing the Joker, no matter how painfully, was never enough. It had to be Batman. Jason didn’t want revenge, he wanted to _be_ avenged. He wanted to know that his death meant something to someone. He knew it was selfish, and irrational, but Bruce’s rationalizations were what got them in that situation in the first place.

It wasn’t going to be easy. He had to subdue the Joker, one of the most dangerous and unpredictable people on the planet, and arrange a situation where Batman, Bruce Wayne, possibly the most stubborn person Jason had ever met, would break his most important tenet. He couldn’t come up with a proper game plan for either until he familiarized himself with Gotham’s current criminal climate. He couldn’t start that until he had access to the internet, and he couldn’t do it properly until he was back in the city.

Still, imagining hypothetical victories was more than enough to pass the time. There wasn’t much else to do, besides ensuring he didn’t die of thirst or a sniper round to the head.

* * *

In the end, Jason didn’t actually have to stow away. He forgot to put his walls up again and got an eyeful (mindful?) of some people who really needed their pockets picked, and was able to afford a proper ticket to Karachi. It was big enough for him to get lost in the crowd, have an airport with flights to Gotham, and provide a good supply of more people he could guiltlessly steal from.

The most difficult thing he had to deal with during the train ride was boredom. Considering all the other stuff he’d had to deal with in his life, he sucked it up and tried to catch up on his sleep. He doubted he’d get another chance any time soon.

Once he arrived, Jason used the last of his rupees to get a cheap smartphone. With internet access, and an embarrassing amount of Google Translate, he was able to look through local social media to see what parts of town he should avoid. He immediately made a beeline for them.

He’d run out of clean clothes days ago, and walking in the sun for so long gave him quite the tan, so he was able to blend in fairly well. He did get a few weird/worried looks, but that might just be because he was six feet and two hundred pounds of intimidating muscle, which was still mind-boggling to think about. Whatever had brought him back must have done a lot more than just healing his wounds.

He shook the thought out of his head before he started seeing white. No White Hot Room. No powers. He’d do this by himself.

No powers made it a bit harder to find a target. A lot of the people obviously eyeing up targets of their own were probably just trying to survive, or provide for others. It had been so long since he patrolled without telepathically cheating that he couldn’t tell the difference between them and the truly malicious anymore. He’d have to work on that. It wasn’t like there was anyone he trusted that could tutor him.

 _Maybe I should go up on the roofs,_ he thought. _I’m not used to patrolling on street level. It might just be a perspective thing._

A metallic rattle came from an alley just ahead. Jason narrowed his eyes and lightened his step as he approached. A peek around the corner showed an empty soda can rolling out from behind a dumpster. It might have just been the wind or a rat or something, but now that Jason was listening for it, he could hear the faint rustling and grunts of a one-sided struggle. He wrapped a hand around the hilt of the kris in his pocket and silently stalked toward the sounds.

Hidden behind the dumpster, he found a man crouching with one hand wrapped around a young woman’s throat and the other trying to pull her pants down. She was clearly trying to fight back, but with her face turning blue from lack of oxygen she didn’t have much strength left.

Jason took the man by surprise and kicked him hard in the head. His skull collided with the wall with a sickening _crunch_ , and he slumped over on top of the woman. Jason quickly pulled him off her, and let out a quiet sigh of relief as she started breathing again. He let her catch her breath while he checked the man’s pulse. Still alive. For the moment, anyway. There was blood trickling down from his scalp, and who knew how much damage Jason had done to his brain. Ah, well. When it came to dead rapists, the more the merrier.

The woman’s heaving gasps subsided into something vaguely like normal breathing. She sat up against the dumpster, eyeing Jason warily. “Are you all right?” Jason asked. She just looked confused. He mentally kicked himself and repeated the question in Urdu, or at least the best translation he could come up with.

She nodded. “Who are you?” she asked. Her voice was still hoarse, unsurprisingly.

Jason shrugged and silently started rifling through the possibly dying scumbag’s pockets. He found the wallet quickly. Not exactly a windfall, but enough to get a room for the night. He’d have to do a bit more hunting if he wanted to buy food, and even more to start saving up for a plane ticket.

“Is he dead?” the woman asked.

Jason checked again. The pulse seemed to have slowed, though that might just be wishful thinking. “No,” he said. “If you want him to stay alive, you should call…” Shit, what was the word for hospital? That was a pretty fucking important word to know. “… someone.”

She stared at the man, her expression becoming the blank of somebody feeling too many emotions too intensely to choose which to express. “No. I don’t…” She closed her eyes and hugged her knees to her chest.

Jason hesitated. It had been a long time since he’d comforted a victim. He got plenty of experience as Robin, but that was different. People already trusted Robin, even if it was a different kid in the tights. Plus, he’d been a small, non-threatening kid in bright colors. The last thing this woman probably wanted right now was a strange, intimidating man trying to give her a hug.

Step one was to remain crouching. No need to start towering over her. “Is there anyone you do want to call?” he asked.

The woman nodded and pulled a phone out of her pocket. Satisfied that the guy wasn’t waking up any time soon, Jason started to walk away. “Where are you going?” she asked, panicked.

Jason looked back at her. She’d pulled herself up to her feet, though her legs were shaking enough that she had to lean most of her weight on the dumpster. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked.

Her jaw worked as she bit the inside of her cheek, chewing over her words, before saying, “Why did you help me?”

 _I’m practicing so that I can become a vigilante and enact my vengeance._ Jason couldn’t say that. Literally. He didn’t know the words in Urdu. “It was… the good thing to do.” She looked suspicious. Jason would have been suspicious, too, in her shoes. He _had_ been suspicious when he was in similar shoes. “And I needed the money.”

She nodded in understanding. “Could you… stay? Until they come get me?”

“All right,” said Jason. “But we shouldn’t stay here.”

“Right.” The woman moved to leave the alley and stumbled badly enough that Jason automatically gave her his arm to hold onto. He surreptitiously looked her over for any injuries he might have missed. He couldn’t see anything, so he hoped it was just residual fear and an adrenaline crash.

Shaky as she was, the woman clearly knew where she was going as she led Jason out of the alley and down the street. He kept an eye out for any more threats while she used her free hand to send a text. They got some weird looks, and some worryingly appraising ones, but some certified Bat-glares from Jason kept them at bay.

The woman stopped at a bench and sat down. “They’ll pick me up here.”

“Got it.” Jason sat next to her.

They sat in silence long enough for fourteen people to walk by. That was when he heard the first quiet sob. He was honestly a little relieved. Crying meant that she was letting herself feel the emotion, and if you could feel it you could start to work through it. Even if he himself didn’t subscribe to the whole ‘healthy coping mechanism’ thing, he knew it was important for other people.

A car swerved and came to a stop in front of them. Jason gripped his kris again and glanced at the woman. Her look of immeasurable relief had him relaxing. Another woman and a man jumped out of the car and rushed to her, speaking rapid-fire Urdu that Jason couldn’t have kept up with if he’d tried.

With his promise fulfilled, Jason silently got to his feet and walked away. He’d pulled out his phone to find a new neighborhood to patrol when thundering footsteps came running up from behind him. He resisted the urge to immediately throw a knife at the noise and casually glanced over his shoulder to see what the commotion was, like any normal person would.

It was the man from the car. He slowed down once he made eye contact with Jason, and Jason came to a stop as well. If they were going to have a confrontation, good or bad, it might as well be now.

“You saved my sister,” the man said. Now that Jason could see him up close, he _could_ see the family resemblance. “How can I repay you?”

Jason shifted uncomfortably. “That… isn’t needed.”

The man’s gaze hardened. “Yes, it is. We repay our debts. I don’t have much money to spare, but I do have… connections.”

Jason gave the guy a more thorough once-over. Even on the other side of the world, low-level thugs had the same look. “I don’t want…” Wait. There _was_ something Jason wanted. “Do you know any…” Shitting Jesus Christ, what the fuck was the Urdu word for armorer? “… makers of… hard… clothing?”

The guy, understandably, looked incredibly confused. “Hard clothing?”

“Body armor?” Jason tried in English. It didn’t help. With a sigh and a sense of defeat, Jason pulled his phone back out and opened up Google Translate. It was marginally less humiliating than starting an impromptu game of charades in public. In Urdu, he said what he really hoped was the proper word for ‘armor’.

Understanding dawned on the guy’s face like a beautiful sunrise. “Oh, _armorer._ Yeah. She isn’t cheap, though. Like, _really_ not-cheap.”

“I’ll work something out,” said Jason.

The guy gave him a look that communicated the phrase ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you’ so clearly that Jason had to check that his mental walls were still up and gave him the address and directions. Jason left without saying goodbye, because he physically could not pass up the opportunity to be dramatic.

* * *

The armorer, indeed, was really not-cheap. Abbasi was, however, a practical woman. Some of her discerning clientele (aka crime lords) weren’t happy with her prices and were making comments about what a shame it would be should certain events befall her. She needed some extra muscle, so she agreed to make Jason some custom armor in exchange for him standing around the workshop looking intimidating for a while. It didn’t sit very well with him, but he couldn’t be picky. He couldn’t just walk onto the Gotham crime scene without custom armor. He needed to stand out to get Batman’s attention.

He settled into a routine. Wake up, eat, patrol, stand guard/enforce, eat, more standing around/enforcing, eat, more patrol, check the internet for news about Gotham, sleep, rinse and repeat. The days started blurring together again. The only sign of the passage of time was the increasing number of rumors of vigilante activity. He started switching lodging as often as he could afford without dipping into the plane ticket fund. Once that fund was secure, he made up his mind to hop on the first flight as soon as he got his armor.

Then Robin died.

He wouldn’t deny feeling a certain giddiness when he saw that his replacement had, himself, been replaced. The new girl definitely had the classic Robin attitude, if the few photos he’d seen of her were any indication. Then, as suddenly as she’d appeared, she vanished, and Gotham social media started buzzing with rumors that Black Mask was bragging about killing her. Of course, it could just be rumors, and she might have simply retired to live a normal, happy life. That explanation, however, failed to account for the increase in criminals Batman nearly sent to the morgue instead of the hospital. The final nail in the coffin was seeing the new Batgirl and reinstated replacement Robin appear to be kicked out of Gotham entirely. Bruce wouldn’t start surgically cutting people out of his life over a happy retirement.

Jason knew a sign from the universe when he saw one.

“I need my armor now,” he said to Abbasi.

She scowled at him. “You haven’t earned a full set, yet.”

Jason resisted the urge to drum his fingers impatiently against his leg. Abbasi wasn’t the sort of person he wanted to show weakness to. “How much have I earned, then?”

He could practically see the calculations going on in her head. “A helmet and chest plate. One custom, one plain.”

Well, it was better than nothing. If worse came to worse, there were always telekinetic shields. Only if it came to worse, though. “Fine. Make the helmet custom.” If people were paying attention to his head, they weren’t paying as much attention to what the rest of him was doing.

Abbasi pulled out her sketchbook. “All right. What do you want it to look like?”

Jason had given that a lot of thought. He couldn’t be Robin anymore, so he needed a new identity, and that came with a new, fitting costume. He’d considered going with Red Hood and a featureless red helmet. The Joker had taken everything from him. An old alias was the least Jason could take back.

Then he thought more about it, and realized the perfect name was staring him right in the face. What did you call a dead bird that was reborn in flame, stronger than ever?

“Make it look like a phoenix head,” he said.

Robin was dead. Long live Phoenix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to everyone hoping for more Mama Talia. She'll probably show up again, but nothing's set in stone.  
> Also, am I supposed to reply to comments that aren't direct non-spoilery questions? I'm new to AO3 etiquette, and I don't want to just say 'thanks' over and over if that isn't what you want. Replies or not, your comments are all very appreciated.


	5. Let the Games Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sorry for any inaccuracies. I don't want to just copy-paste Under the Hood, so I'm 'adapting' it based on a plot synopsis and my vague memories of the comic/movie.

Gotham was different than Jason remembered. Logically, he’d known it would be. Three years and a giant earthquake would do that to a city. Even the skyline was different. All the buildings seemed smaller, though that might just be because he’d grown a foot since he was last there.

And yet all it took was one stroll through Crime Alley to see just how much had stayed the same. The same desperation, the same casual cruelty, the same sort of skinny kids running for cover the second they saw an adult approaching. All that had changed was that _he_ was one of those adults now, and the only crime boss he heard people complaining about was Black Mask.

If Jason had any doubts about who to target before, they were gone now. He’d be killing two birds with one stone, and avenging two birds at the same time.

It only took him three days to slot the final pieces of his plan into place. In theory, it was fairly simple. Pose as a crime lord carving out a piece of Black Mask’s empire, get Batman’s attention, drop enough hints to make him realize who he was, capture the Joker, put a gun in Batman’s hand and another to Joker’s head and tell him to choose, and see if he could kill Black Mask along the way. Obviously, things would go wrong, but if worse came to worse there was always the White Hot Room. Frankly, letting his soul be devoured by an ineffable being was a lot more appealing than letting Batman let the Joker live.

 _Or you could just go home,_ whispered the stupid part of him that was supposed to be dead. _The manor’s a cab ride away. Just go home and see Alfred and Bruce again. They’ll be so happy to see you alive again._

_If they’d be so happy, then why did they replace me?_

It was probably for the best that the Replacement was out of town. Jason had gone three weeks now without any superpowered meltdowns, and he’d hate to break that streak.

Of course, things started going off the rails almost immediately. The plan was to leave an anonymous meeting time and place with Gotham’s biggest drug dealers. The first one he targeted was best contacted through his lieutenant. Then he saw what said lieutenant was getting up to, and a disgusted telepathic scan showed that he’d serve the world much better as the message than the messenger. Then, well, Jason didn’t want anyone to feel left out, so he tracked down the others’ lieutenants and found that they were just as big piles of shit.

He adapted. He found other ways to contact the bosses, cleaned up the murder scenes, and resolved to keep his mind completely closed off for the meeting. Killing everybody there would just have new scumbags popping up to take their place. Crime couldn’t be stopped, but it could be controlled. Better to have someone like Jason controlling it rather than someone like Roman Sionis.

The meeting went great. Nothing like a better offer, cool leather jacket, and duffel bag full of severed heads to get people’s cooperation.

Re-railing number two came when he actually saw Batman for the first time. It was only for a moment from several roofs away, yet still the sight of him had Jason’s eyes completely blurring with tears and the rooftop railing he was leaning on crumple beneath his fingers with an awful metallic shriek.

The loss of control had him making some recalculations. If seeing Batman affected him that badly, how the fuck was he going to deal with the Joker? Should he get one of his new ‘employees’ to grab him? They might actually pull it off, considering the Joker had done nothing but mope around in Amusement Mile lately. But then how would his confrontation with Batman work if either he or the Joker couldn’t be present?

He couldn’t come up with any solutions, except to cross that bridge when he came to it.

Jason didn’t have much time to think it over after. He was too busy defending his new drug ring from Black Mask’s wrath, which was quite significant. It was only a matter of time before he realized normal thugs wouldn’t do the trick and brought in metahuman outside help. Hopefully by that point the Joker would be dead and Jason would be back at Batman’s side.

Then, for once, there was a good disruption. Word reached Jason that Black Mask was getting a shipment of some _very_ fancy toys. Another chance to fuck with him, and also cloudy with a high chance of Bats. Jason had seen him around a few more times, and he was reasonably certain he could face him without telekinetically breaking anything.

Security on the ship was impressive, by normal standards. Nowhere near good enough by Gotham standards, though. Jason was able to plant the explosives and wheel the kryptonite out without so much as a guard looking over their shoulder. Exploding the kryptonite would just have Black Mask hiring scuba divers to collect the shards. Superman already had more bad guys with kryptonite to deal with than he deserved.

By the time his people confirmed the cargo was delivered to the right warehouse, Batman still hadn’t shown up. If he took much longer, Jason would have to switch roofs to maintain the right dramatic lighting.

 _It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t show up,_ he assured himself. _Blowing up Black Mask’s cargo is still a win._

It didn’t stop him from feeling like the first time he’d tried to throw a big birthday party and literally none of his classmates showed up. Yeah, sure, it had been over five years since then and it wasn’t like he was friends with any of them, but it had still been a dick move. He might just have to pay them a visit as Phoenix. They were assholes, they were probably up to some fucked up shit nowadays.

Then a shadow moved in the corner of his eye. He turned to look, and the shadow resolved itself into a familiar silhouette. Then another one, less familiar and far less welcome.

_Shit. What the fuck are you doing here, Dickface?_

Jason ducked down into cover and took a deep breath. He shouldn’t be surprised. He really shouldn’t. He’d seen all the reports of Nightwing in Gotham since his death. Why hadn’t he taken the next logical step and thought that he and Batman had finally put aside their differences and were willing to work together again? Why wouldn’t they, once Jason wasn’t around to be their own personal Apple of Discord?

He gritted his teeth until it felt like they were about to crack and shoved those thoughts aside. This didn’t have to change anything. Well, not much. He wasn’t sure he could shake both Batman _and_ Nightwing off his tail. He was, however, very sure that the two of them could handle that little surprise of Black Mask’s he’d been meaning to neutralize.

He could do this, so long as he kept thinking of them as Batman and Nightwing instead of Bruce and Dick.

He rose to his feet and hit the detonator. The boat went up in flames, and less than a second later the shockwave had his feet stumble ever so slightly and his heart thundering in his chest. Nothing quite like seeing the thing that murdered you to get the adrenaline going.

Between the moonlight and the firelight, he’d be looking undeniably Phoenix-y when Batman or Nightwing noticed him. The moment he saw Batman look his way, and the unmistakable shift to a running stance, he was off.

If Jason allowed himself to, he could almost imagine this being another training exercise. A chance to let loose, have fun, and prove himself without worrying about being in danger. More like an improvised dance than a chase. A jump here, a grapple there, a backflip to make things interesting…

If Jason allowed himself to, that is.

The illusion was dispelled when he felt a grapple wrap itself around his leg while he was mid-jump. Instinctively, he pulled out his kris and cut the cord before it could go taut. _So much for no danger,_ he thought. _Helmet or not, a fall like that could’ve given me a concussion._

He also thought, _If all this doesn’t give Br-_ Batman _the right sort of suspicions, I don’t know what will._

The warehouse wasn’t too far, thankfully. Fun as it was, Jason was out of practice in Gotham and couldn’t have outrun them forever. He threw himself at a window feet-first, creating a small telekinetic shield beneath his feet to absorb the impact of breaking the glass and hitting the ground. He didn’t like having to do it, but he would’ve sprained an ankle at best otherwise and it gave him enough time to find the right crate before Batman and Nightwing got themselves in safely. As safely as they ever got themselves anywhere, anyway.

He used the kris to pry open the crate, and yep, that was definitely an Amazo. Black Mask must have spent a fortune on it. Jason took more than a little pleasure in turning it to face where he was 99% sure his pursuers would be approaching from and hitting the on switch. Oh, what he would give to be a fly on the wall when Sionis found out.

Sticking around to watch the show was also pretty appealing, but Jason had a job to do. He snuck around to the front door and left just as he heard Amazo give his pre-programmed greeting in Supervillain Monologue.

 _They’ll be fine,_ he told himself to shut up the unwanted pangs of guilt raising complaints.

He followed the path his people had taken to the warehouse. Surprisingly, they’d actually done a good job of covering their tracks. Batman would have a hard time following them if it weren’t for the big-ass radiation signature.

He dropped down to the ground next to the inconspicuous guard at the door. The guy had clearly been in the city for too long, because he didn’t even flinch. “Evening, boss,” he said conversationally.

“Evening,” Jason returned, opening the door while watching him carefully. One of the perks of a full-face helmet – nobody could see where you were looking. The guard remained unperturbed, which confirmed that the shipment was secure. Jason still checked just to be sure, and not one ingot was out of place.

He leaned casually against the crate while he pulled out his phone and dialed the number of one of Black Mask’s lieutenants. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to see the pose, but Jason hoped it would translate through his voice.

The guy picked up promptly. “Hello?” he said loudly to be heard over the muffled screaming in the background.

Jason grinned as he said brightly, “Hey there, Jerry, it’s Phoenix. You might’ve heard about me. I wanna talk with your boss.”

Something got smashed in the background while Jerry pondered this statement. “What, am I supposed to just believe you?” he finally said.

Jason sighed dramatically. “You got me. I’m just some random schmo that happened to stumble across this here crate of kryptonite.”

More foreground silence and background screaming. Then, “Hold on a sec.”

Everything got muffled, like Jerry had placed a hand over the speaker. Things got clear again as a huge inward breath came over the line, as dire a portent of things to come as any prophecy. “I DON’T KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU LITTLE-“

Black Mask sounded even more unhinged than Jason remembered, which was quite the accomplishment. Jason interrupted him before he convinced him he needed to die sooner than planned. “I don’t want to get all philosophical, but I think that I’m the guy with your Kryptonian contingency plan. I also like to think of myself as a professional, so how about we leave the screaming for the people we pay to deal with it?”

Jason swore he could hear Black Mask’s teeth grinding, and he could definitely hear him breathing heavily, or maybe a winded bull had somehow gotten on the line. “You wanna be professional?” Sionis growled. “Fine. How about you take one big fucking professional look at your situation? I _own_ Gotham, and I ain’t sharing. The only way you’re staying in one piece is if you kick in with me and take whatever scraps I feel like tossing you, or you get the fuck out of my city.”

Jason gave an exaggerated _hmm._ “You sure know how to make an offer sound tempting, Roman. It’s a miracle I got so many of your people to jump ship. Sadly, I gotta decline.” He took a piece of kryptonite out of the crate and started tossing it up and down. Again, Black Mask wouldn’t be able to see it, but the sense of smugness would no doubt come through in Jason’s voice. “Ah, but enough of the pleasantries. I didn’t call _just_ to brag. On a scale of nothing to a trillion dollars, how much do you want your kryptonite back?”

Black Mask was actually speechless for a moment. “You’re seriously fucking trying to sell back the shit you stole from me?”

“I prefer to think of it as returning your lost property and requesting a modest finder’s fee.”

“You want modest? Fine. Ten grand.”

Jason genuinely laughed. “You really are trying to fill the Joker’s shoes, aren’t you?” Just saying the name had all his mirth instantly evaporate, and it must have been noticeable in his voice, so he quickly changed tracks. “How about ten million?”

“FUCK NO!”

“Have you _seen_ what Superman can do? If you get Batman desperate enough to call him in, you’d be looking at way more than ten mil in property damage.”

“Batman isn’t going to go crying to Superman for help,” Black Mask sneered. “His reputation is all he’s got. Nobody’s gonna be scared of the guy that needs his alien boyfriend to come clean up his messes.”

The emphasis on ‘boyfriend’ had Jason adding ‘homophobe’ to the list of reasons Black Mask sucked. “Right, they’ll all be afraid of Superman instead, and I’m sure that will be very helpful to you while you’re rotting in prison. I’m in a good mood tonight, though, so let’s go with five.”

“Five hundred thousand.”

“Six million.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that an offer?”

“It’s a fucking threat if you keep this shit up. One million.”

“Three.”

The winded bull came back on the line for a solid ten seconds. “Fine. Where’s my goddamn kryptonite?”

“You’re a big boy. Come and find it.” Jason hung up, dropped the burner phone to the ground, and ground it to shards beneath his heel. It didn’t need to be functional for the call to be traced, and he sure as hell wasn’t using that number anymore.

He went back outside and said to the guard, “You can all go now. I’ve got this.”

The guard didn’t even question it. “Yes, sir.” He was gone with a speed that showed why he’d survived this long.

Jason went back inside and placed the lid back on top of the crate. Black Mask’s people wouldn’t take too long to get here, especially since they wouldn’t be bothering with gathering the funds. Sionis put in quite the performance for someone who never had any intentions beside killing Phoenix and taking the kryptonite for free. Batman and Nightwing wouldn’t take long, either, so Jason had to start preparing fast.

To his dismay, the warehouse had jack shit that he could use to make traps. He knew he’d chosen one of the more inconspicuous and common warehouses, but come on. Sure, there were the ingredients for some nasty League of Assassins style surprises, but he didn’t actually want to kill anyone. Well, maybe whoever Black Mask sent. Unless the Joker himself walked through those doors, though, it wasn’t worth risking Batman or Nightwing’s lives.

So, he wound up just pacing around impatiently, wishing he’d brought an extra burner to play sudoku on, and fighting down the urge to reach out telepathically. He couldn’t risk sensing Batman’s mind. If he did that, then the temptation to dive deeper would be too strong and he’d find out once and for all that Bruce never loved Jason as much as Jason loved Bruce. He didn’t know if he could survive that.

He snapped back to reality at the muted sound of approaching footsteps. He immediately slipped into the shadows and pulled out one of his guns. _Showtime._

He had to admit to feeling rather flattered when Mr. Freeze himself came through the door, freeze ray in one hand and briefcase in the other. Black Mask was finally upping his game. He’d even sent an actual briefcase to keep up the illusion of honoring their deal.

Freeze scanned the room. Jason sneaked behind him and casually leaned against the wall before he spoke up. “To what do I _snow_ the pleasure?” He chuckled as Freeze whirled around to face him. “I know, I know, I just couldn’t resist.” He really couldn’t. Seeing a familiar member of his old rogues’ gallery brought back memories, and with memories came the urge to make bad puns. It was a nice urge, even if it was born from trying to be more like Dick.

“Where is the kryptonite?” Freeze demanded, pointing his freeze ray or cold gun or whatever he called it nowadays at Jason.

Jason pointed his own gun. “Where’s my money?”

Freeze gestured to the briefcase.

Jason hoped he could tell he was rolling his eyes beneath the helmet. “Yeah, that’s a very nice briefcase, but for all I know it could be holding your gummy worm collection.”

Freeze didn’t flinch, but his subtle change in expression told Jason that whatever was in that briefcase was a lot worse than money or gummy worms.

 _Let’s get this over with._ “Tell you what,” said Jason “You put the briefcase down, I point you to the kryptonite, and we both see if we’ve got what we wanted.”

“Very well.”

Freeze carefully placed the briefcase on the ground. Jason pointed to the crate with the kryptonite in it. Jason watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye as they each approached their ‘prize’. Freeze went around the crate to make sure he could keep an eye on Jason as he opened it. Or maybe he just did it so he had a clear line of fire. He certainly was fingering his freeze ray to an almost obscene degree.

Jason knelt down to open the clasps on the briefcase. Freeze lifted the lid off the crate and gawked at the glowing green kryptonite. Jason took advantage of the distraction to stand and kick the briefcase so that it fell open facing away from him. The trap activated with a hiss, releasing a cloud of something very unhealthy-looking. Even with the distance and filters on his helmet, the smell had Jason’s throat burning.

Mr. Freeze realized what had happened. Jason dodged just in time to avoid the first blast.

On the one hand, the fight should be easy. He’d been able to beat Mr. Freeze even as Robin, albeit with backup from Batman. Pyrokinesis made things a lot easier. He wasn’t sure how much good a stable body temperature would do against something capable of freezing people solid, but hey, if that didn’t bring out some fancier fireworks then he didn’t know what would.

On the other hand, he was out of practice with dealing with anything greater than street-level thugs non-lethally. Even if Victor Fries’s coping mechanisms made Batman look like the picture of healthy recovery, Jason didn’t want to kill him. Which was really too bad, because Victor clearly didn’t feel the same way.

Freeze’s second blast grazed Jason’s sleeve, leaving a trail of ice on the leather. He was gratified to see it immediately start steaming, and very annoyed when said steam threw his aim off and made his gunshot hit an innocent crate of some sort of grain instead of the freeze ray. _Maybe it’s for the best,_ he thought as he started closing the distance between them. _Exploded freeze ray goop is a pain in the ass to clean up._

Jason barely had time to shove the gun back in its holster before he had to do a handspring to avoid another icy blast while still maintaining his forward momentum. He didn’t have many non-lethal long-ranged options, besides aiming for unimportant bits, which wouldn’t work on Mr. Freeze because it’d breach his suit and kill him unless a custom containment cell was on hand to throw him in. Jason somehow doubted one of those was lying around here. So, close-range beatdown it was.

Or, it _would_ have been.

Jason was still a foot away from Freeze when Batman and Nightwing came crashing in through the window. Damn it. Had it been that long already? Time flies when you’re fighting supervillains, Jason supposed. The distraction gave him a second to come up with an exit strategy. The idea he came up with was experimental, dangerous, reckless, and all sorts of other negative adjectives, yet somehow, somewhere in his bones, he knew it would work.

He lunged at Freeze, ‘accidentally’ leaving the perfect opening. As expected, Freeze pulled the trigger. Jason got hit point-blank with sub-zero… whatever the hell it was Freeze’s gun shot. Whatever it was, the moment it made contact with Jason it turned to steam. A _lot_ of steam. Enough to act as a smokescreen as Jason grappled out the open window.

He didn’t stop running until he was back at one of his safehouses, and he didn’t let himself relax until he’d done two thorough sweeps for anyone tailing him. He refused to do a telepathic sweep. That little pyrokinetic trick was more than enough weird power use for the day.

He checked his burner phones. Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with by sending a few threatening texts to the right people. He did a patrol of the neighborhood. Nothing that he hadn’t sanctioned. He even washed the dishes in the sink. He seriously considered trying to give the safehouse a proper cleaning. He thought better of it. He hated leaving jobs unfinished, and cleaning this shithole would take him all night when he really needed some sleep for the shitstorm on the horizon.

Nothing left to do but think. God fucking damn it.

He changed into an outfit that vaguely resembled pajamas and buried his head in the pillow. _Go to sleep, brain. I know you’re tired. Just go the fuck to sleep._

_I finally used pyrokinesis on purpose. How did I do it? Could I do it again?_

_I need to get ready for any other supervillains Black Mask hires. Would Poison Ivy work with him? Probably not. He doesn’t seem the eco-friendly type. Then again, I didn’t think Mr. Freeze was the type to work with him either._

_Has Bruce figured it out yet? Did I give him enough to work with? No, I don’t think so. What did I give him to work with? I’ve taken over a good chunk of the drug trade, I know how to plant explosives, I’ve clearly got training in parkour and grappling hooks and a familiarity with Gotham architecture, and I was able to somehow negate Mr. Freeze’s attack. Oh, and I’m calling myself Phoenix. At most, he’ll have suspicions. Maybe check my grave. Is there anything to check there? Did Talia cover it up?_

With a snarl, Jason got up and rummaged through the bathroom cabinet until he found some sleeping pills. He really shouldn’t be taking them so much, but fuck it, how else was he supposed to get any sleep in a city full of memories and screams for help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! I've found that writing replies feels really overwhelming, so I think I'll only reply to comments to answer questions. Thank you all for your support.


	6. Hello

Now that the gauntlet was officially thrown, Jason expected Black Mask to hit him hard. In his opinion, the best defense was a good offense, so he hit him first. He blew up drug labs, shot up meetings, took over the protection racket for a few neighborhoods (and ‘accidentally’ forgot to collect), kicked as many pimps as he could out of Crime Alley, and caused several trucks full of various illegal cargo to mysteriously vanish.

He did everything he could think of to mess with Black Mask, and Black Mask… did nothing.

Sure, Jason faced resistance. He lost some good people in the various struggles across the city. Not morally good, obviously, but reliable and not easily replaced. But it was all… scattered. Unorganized. Just the criminal equivalent of a bunch of middle managers trying to protect their slice of the money pie. Jason didn’t hear so much as a whisper of Black Mask planning a counterattack, not even from his accidental bouts of telepathy.

Jason could only come up with two reasonable explanations. One, Black Mask was keeping his plans under tight lock and key. That was teetering on the edge of reasonability, because he didn’t seem the type to resist bragging about what he was going to do to that Phoenix motherfucker. Two, he was sitting back and hoping Batman would get him. That was a bit more likely. Maybe Batman was trying to do some research and word of it got to Sionis.

Joke’s on him, though, because a confrontation with Batman was exactly what he wanted.

In theory, he should really secure the third member of their little reunion sooner rather than later. Who knew how long the Joker would stay docile and mopey until he got bored of it and decided to reclaim his throne? Better to nab him now and keep tied up in a locked room until the right time. Also, Jason would have all the time he needed to enact every fantasy he’d ever had about making the Joker suffer.

In practice, the very thought of being within a mile of the Joker had Jason’s fight-or-flight instincts going haywire. He’d toyed with the idea of having someone else capture him and point a gun at his head on a live feed so that Jason didn’t have to be that close, but too many things could go wrong and it was too… impersonal. It had to be raw, visceral, and right in front of Bruce’s face to get through that thick skull of his, and it had to be just the three of them. If anybody else interfered, helpful or not, Jason didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from shooting them.

It was all a great big mess of emotions. Jason would deal with it when he had to, and not a moment sooner. For now, he had an empire to burn.

So, here he was, about to drop in on a meeting unimportant enough that he couldn’t even remember who was having it, except that they worked for Black Mask and the guys doing the talking had rap sheets bad enough to get their names metaphorically carved into Jason’s bullets. Just another day in Gotham.

He was running so much on auto-pilot that he nearly didn’t look down and notice that somebody was already in his spot.

She was a bald, dark-skinned woman with the posture and intense gaze of a tiger preparing to pounce on her prey. Jason would bet every dollar of blood money he had that this was Onyx, the Assassin-with-a-capital-A-turned-heroine that Batman didn’t seem to mind operating in his city.

Jason could probably leave the meeting to her. He probably should. But… What was it that Batman saw in her, that he didn’t see in the Replacement or Batgirl?

He dropped down next to Onyx with just enough noise to alert her to his presence. “Hate to break it to you, but I called dibs on this beatdown,” he murmured lightly.

She didn’t flinch or startle, but she did tense up and give him a calculating and suspicious once-over. “Phoenix,” she whispered, lip curling in distaste. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Unless you’re here to just watch, in which case I’ve really gotta question your taste in shows.” He looked down at the meeting. “Look at them. They aren’t even yelling. Where’s the fun in that?”

They perched for a while in silence. Jason could practically hear the gears turning in Onyx’s head as she determined who she should be fighting here. He didn’t know enough about her to know what her decision would be, so even while he kept his posture relaxed, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his kris.

Finally, she asked, somewhat incredulously, “You… want to team up?”

Jason shrugged. “Just for now. The enemy of my enemy, right?”

Onyx’s stare became a full-on glare. “You _are_ the enemy. I know what you’ve done.”

Even with his mental walls firmly in place, the righteous anger radiating off of her had Jason’s grip on his kris tightening. “You really wanna fight here? Right above a bunch of idiots who never learned not to rest their finger on the trigger?”

Onyx didn’t look down to see if he was lying. Interesting. Either she’d already seen the appalling lack of gun safety for herself, or she thought Jason was the greater threat. “Better that than helping a crime lord kill people.”

It was too late to leave without feeling like he’d lost the argument, and he genuinely wanted to see her in action, so he decided to go for the Obi-Wan version of the truth. “I’m not interested in killing stupid rabble,” he scoffed.

Jason wasn’t surprised by her perfect poker face. If Talia’s drills were anything to go by, it was a standard part of Assassin training. He was, however, a little surprised by how unsettling and refreshing it was to have no idea how somebody was going to react. Onyx seemed as likely to agree as she was to attack him. He’d get to see her in a fight either way, so it was a win-win situation in his book.

“Fine,” Onyx said quietly, and dropped down right on top of a bodyguard.

Jason grinned beneath his helmet and followed suit, driving a gravity-assisted elbow into the biggest bodyguard’s collarbone. He felt it snap, and the man let out an ear-piercing scream before Jason headbutted him hard enough to knock him out. The gunfire started quickly, so Jason made sure to use lots of jumps and flips so that he was in constant motion and harder to hit. He wasn’t too worried. These weren’t exactly Gotham’s finest.

As such, he was able to pay a good deal of attention to Onyx. The best way to describe her fighting style was ‘unarmed League of Assassins with the edges filed down’. He recognized most of her moves from his training sessions with Talia, but she always stopped herself before she got to the lethal parts, transitioning so smoothly into the next move that you’d never notice it if you didn’t know what to look for.

She was good. _Very_ good. He could see why Batman wanted her around… except he’d also seen footage of the new Batgirl in a fight. If you were only going to have one other vigilante helping you, why go with ‘very good’ instead of ‘how the fuck is she not a meta’?

_Because there’s no way Cassandra Cain getting adopted when Batgirl showed up was a coincidence, and another Robin just died. Onyx isn’t his kid. He doesn’t mind the idea of her getting killed as much._

The thought had him freeze long enough for a bodyguard to get a hit in, punching him hard in the stomach. Without armor, it would’ve knocked the wind out of him. With armor, he was able to immediately sweep the guy’s legs out from under him and give him a kick in the head for the bruise he’d have to deal with.

The fight would have been easy with just one of them. With two, it was over before Jason could really have any fun. What a pity. Once the last guy went down, Onyx went to work binding their hands with zip-ties and checking their vitals. She must have considered fighting together one hell of a bonding activity, because she was hardly paying any attention at all to Jason even though he was in the perfect position to shoot her in the back.

It almost made him feel bad about what he was about to do.

He located his targets and, with speed that would make a Spaghetti Western protagonist jealous, pulled out his gun and unloaded two bullets into each of their skulls.

The gunshots were still ringing in his ears when Onyx tackled him to the ground. By the time they hit the floor she had a bruising grip on his wrists that had his fingers automatically dropping the gun. She stared down at him with a mixture of shock, horror, and hurt that had him almost feel a twinge of guilt. “You said you wouldn’t kill them!”

Jason could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, “Technically, I just said that I’m not interested in killing stupid rabble. Those two weren’t just rabble.”

As with most attempted exploitations of loopholes outside the courtroom, it did not get him out of trouble. If anything, Onyx just looked angrier. She was also in the perfect position to break his wrists, which would not be conducive to a climactic showdown with Batman in the near future.

Jason pulled a leg up sharply and kneed her in the back, hopefully somewhere close to the kidneys. She winced and softened her grip just enough for Jason to yank an arm free and shove her off. They both quickly jumped to their feet and stood facing each other.

Jason weighed his options. He could try leading her on a merry chase through the city until he could find a way to lose her, but she looked mad enough to follow him to the ends of the earth right now, so that wasn’t really feasible. Trying to talk her down wouldn’t be helpful, either. He’d have to fight her, and anybody Batman approved of would keep fighting until they physically couldn’t.

Jason sighed quietly to himself before he charged at her.

It felt like it had been ages since he’d fought somebody with such a similar fighting style to his own. At first, he thought it reminded him of training with Talia, but then she tried a move that was pure Robin and he realized it actually reminded him of training with Bruce in the Batcave. No need to worry about getting killed, and not really wanting to hurt his opponent in turn. Just a martial dance of attacks, blocks, dodges, and parries.

The realization had bile rising in his throat and snapped him out of the near-trance he realized he’d fallen into. Between all the flips and lunges, they’d gotten out of the warehouse and onto an empty street. Who knew how long it would stay empty, or if it was only empty now because its occupants had already ducked away to notify Black Mask of the perfect opportunity to take out two serious threats at once.

Jason had to end this, fast.

“Sorry about this,” he grunted as he blocked a punch and put her in an armlock. Before her retaliatory strike could hit, he pulled out his kris and stabbed it into her shoulder, trying his best to avoid anything vital.

Onyx didn’t scream, but she did take a sharp inhale through gritted teeth and her strike lost a lot of power. Jason pulled the kris back out as smoothly as he could and backed away. She didn’t move to follow, focusing on examining her wound as best she could in the dim streetlight.

Jason sheathed his kris. “Well, it’s been fun, but-“

_Thud._

Jason froze. It had been years, but he knew that sound. Once upon a time, he’d considered it one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard. Batman only landed loudly when he was too angry to care about being noticed. Usually he was mad because Jason was in danger, and the thud heralded a spectacular rescue followed by hugs and at least a week of guilt-induced bonding time.

Oh, how the tables turn.

“Phoenix,” Batman growled.

Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn’t let himself feel all the things trying to tear their way out from behind his ribs, except the anger. Once he had honed himself to a razor edge on it, he opened his eyes again. Onyx was gone. Weird. She didn’t seem the type to run… unless Batman had signaled her to.

He turned around. “Batman,” he said in return. His voice had dropped at least an octave since they last spoke, so the twinge he thought he saw in Batman’s jaw must have just been wishful thinking.

“Who are you?” Batman demanded.

Had he figured it out already? How? No, he couldn’t have, all he had were suspicions, and he wanted to see if Phoenix would confirm them. “I’m what this city needs,” said Jason.

“Gotham already has enough murderers.”

Oh, good, Batman was making it easy to hate him. “In case you haven’t noticed, that number’s gotten a lot lower since I got here.” He was sorely tempted to mention the ‘If you kill a killer’ line, but that would be too incriminating.

“Do you honestly think that you’re helping people?”

Jason snarled at the incredulousness in his tone. “Yes, I am. Haven’t you seen by now that you can’t stop crime? Isn’t it better to have someone like me in control of it than someone like Black Mask?”

Batman’s lips thinned into a hard line. “From where I stand, I don’t see much difference.”

His disapproval shouldn’t hurt. Jason had nothing to prove. Batman didn’t know who he was talking to. There were a thousand reasons his mind shouldn’t be scrambling to come up with an argument to convince him, to get him to let out a grunt that was his version of saying ‘You have a point’, just like the old days when he was by his side and they could overcome any obstacle as long as they were together.

Jason grabbed the hurt by the throat and twisted it into anger.

Batman was already closing in by the time Jason drew his gun and pulled the trigger. One handspring/dodge later, he was kicking the gun out of his hand. Jason used the momentum to add some extra _oomph_ to a roundhouse kick to the ribs. The armor took the brunt of it, but it gave him a little breathing room to collect himself before Batman charged him again.

If fighting Onyx was a walk down memory lane, actually fighting Batman again was somebody ripping a cobblestone out of memory lane and smashing his face in with it. Jason had to constantly adjust the angles of his blocks and attacks because he kept expecting Batman to be way bigger than him, rather than a scant two inches, and remind himself that he was in the same weight class and needed to fight like it.

Part of him was excited to finally experience first-hand what Bruce could do when he wasn’t holding back. Granted, he was always holding back so that he didn’t kill his opponents or cripple them (unless he was _really_ mad), but no matter his claims to the contrary Jason always knew that Bruce took it easy on him during training. In hindsight, it made sense, since he’d been about a hundred pounds soaking wet. Now was his chance to prove… No. He had nothing to prove. He just wanted an excuse to beat the crap out of Batman.

Batman met the challenge, hitting him with a strength and brutality Jason found difficult to believe… at first. As the fight went on, Batman’s blows lost more and more force, his grapples became more and more gentle, and his snarling expression became more and more blank. Even with half his face covered with the cowl, Jason knew that blankness. Bruce was feeling something with far too much intensity to deal with at the moment (or, ideally in his mind, at all) and was doing his best to shove it into a mental closet and throw the key down the garbage disposal.

Maybe Jason wasn’t the only one struggling not to drown in memories.

Eventually Batman’s performance deteriorated to the point where he took so long to respond to a punch to the head that Jason was able to impulsively grab hold of the cowl and yank it off. They both froze as they processed what had happened.

Bruce looked… old. Jason had noticed the signs in the press photos, but that was nothing compared to seeing him in person. Without the Brucie smile and concealer and flattering angles, Jason could see just how _tired_ he looked. He’d seen him look more energetic when he’d stayed up so many nights working that he swayed whenever he stood.

Jason couldn’t think of a more appropriately dramatic moment for this. “Let’s keep it even,” he said, reaching up and taking off his helmet.

A lot of expressions flashed across Bruce’s face. Surprise was not one of them. “Jason,” he breathed, and somehow it looked like part of him had come back to life while another part curled up and died.

All of the quips and insults Jason had prepared for the occasion died on his lips, strangled by the lump in his throat. “Yes,” he said simply.

Bruce took a step forward, hand reaching toward him. Jason squashed down his stupid, irrational first instinct to run forward and hug him. He didn’t squash his much more reasonable second instinct to pull his secondary gun out and aim it at him.

Bruce looked between the gun and his face a few times, like he was a robot who’d encountered a serious error and was stuck in a loop until somebody came along to program an appropriate response. “What are you doing, Jason?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound disappointed. He just sounded… confused. Lost.

It took every ounce of self-control Jason had not to read his mind, because this all had to be an act. If this was really Bruce’s reaction to seeing him again, that meant he actually cared, and that didn’t make any sense, because he’d replaced him and let his killer hang out with all his friends in Arkham. It was all an act to make him let his guard down, but he couldn’t let himself find proof in Bruce’s mind, because there was some small, vital part of Jason’s being that needed to believe in him to survive.

“I’m doing what needs to be done. You’ll see soon enough.” Jason put the gun away and pulled out his kris instead. He hacked off a few locks of his hair and put them in one of the plastic evidence bags he always carried around with him, because once a Bat, always a Bat, at least when it came to being prepared for anything. He threw the bag on the ground between them. “There. Now you don’t have to go rummaging through my trash for a DNA sample.”

Bruce’s expression was going blank again, but he did glare suspiciously at the bag. “How do I know that hasn’t been tampered with?” He almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself that there was a chance this wasn’t the real Jason. That the real Jason was still whatever loyal martyr he’d rewritten his memories to paint him as.

Or maybe it was just the Bat paranoia. “Nice to see some things never change,” said Jason. He didn’t bother trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice.

Bruce looked back up at him with that lost look, and Jason couldn’t take this anymore. If he had to spend another minute with Bruce, he was going to either hug him or shoot him, and at the moment both seemed equally awful. He threw down a smoke bomb, grabbed his helmet, grappled to the nearest roof, and ran as fast as he could for as long as he could.

As usual, his body gave up before his heart did. His tired legs refused to move fast enough to jump over a fence, resulting in a failure that would have been the height of comedy had it happened to anybody except him. His fell back, slammed his head into the roof, and everything went black, then white, then to an endless sky of stars, then to a Gotham sky of smog, darkness, and a few scattered lights that were probably satellites rather than stars.

His head ached like he’d just made a visit to the White Hot Room. He sat up slowly, wincing, and rubbed the back of his head. It felt wet. He managed to repeat the thought _It’s probably just rainwater_ ten times in the second or so it took to bring his hand in front of his face. It wasn’t rainwater, unless somebody had dumped a whole bunch of red dye in a cloud.

In a way, the injury was actually welcome. It gave him something to focus on. He could berate himself for not putting his helmet back on instead of for every single other fucking thing he’d done that night. He could concentrate on the pain in his head instead of the pain in his heart. He could go through the list of tests for concussion instead of going through his conversation with Bruce over and over and over and over again.

He was able to happily focus on all of those things and more until he was back in one of his apartments, bandage wrapped around his head, blood washed out of his hair, acetaminophen in his system, and a Lifetime movie marathon on to keep him awake in case he was too concussed to realize the severity of his concussion.

Once all his unwanted thoughts and feelings and other such bullshittery had distracted him enough to completely lose the plot of the current movie (though he suspected, spoiler alert, that the main character was going to leave her controlling husband for the dashing bookstore owner), he buried his face in the couch pillow and muttered to himself, “It could have gone worse.”

All he got in reply was the sound of his neighbors arguing and a swell of whimsical music from the TV’s crappy speakers.

“It could have gone worse,” he repeated. “He believed you. He didn’t capture you. You didn’t go with him. You stayed in control. Nobody died that didn’t deserve it. How could it have gone better? What did you think was going to happen?”

He had no answers. Only loud neighbors, stupid movies, and all the aches and bruises he’d collected that night, inside and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if Onyx is OOC. I don't really know her that well.


	7. The Best Laid Plans

For the next few days, every time Jason turned a corner or opened his eyes, he half-expected to find Batman waiting for him. Whether he believed he was really Jason or not, Phoenix was still a murderous crime lord, and Batman generally didn’t let those hang out in his city if he could help it. The other half of him expected Bruce to run every test and investigation possible to determine if and/or how Jason was alive, which was going to take a while.

The other half was right. Batman barely showed up in Gotham at all, except to answer the Bat-Signal. With him presumably holed up in the Batcave, Onyx out of commission for the time being, Nightwing and the other Bat-Brats keeping their distance, and Black Mask continuing to bide his time, everything was going smoothly for Jason and his newfound business ventures. It was, quite frankly, far more nerve-wracking than if things _were_ going wrong. Smooth sailing in Gotham just meant the city was about to throw a hurricane at you.

Well, if things were about to go up in flames, Jason was lighting the match himself.

When he finally managed to win over a defector who actually knew where Black Mask’s hideout was, he decided to go give him a little housewarming gift. He made sure Black Mask spotted him before he pulled the trigger on the rocket launcher.

Satisfying as the theatricality of it all was, it did kind of bite him in the ass when it turned out Sionis survived the blast. Whatever. He was never Jason’s priority, anyway. He’d just wait until Bruce finished up his investigation, confront him with the Joker, and then… then… Jason wasn’t going to think about the _and then_. Not when it depended so much on such an uncertain outcome.

Until then, though, he was still going to do everything in his power to fuck with the sadistic asshole. Right now, that meant stopping a delivery that was supposed to be passing at any moment. It should be a routine job. The category of ‘should’, however, also included not shooting rocket launchers at vengeful psychopaths unless you were damn sure it would kill them, so Jason was fully prepared for things to go on an express elevator to hell soon enough.

He heard a truck approaching. A careful look around the alley corner confirmed that it matched the description he’d received. He pulled out a gun, waited until the truck was in range, then shot out the tires. It came to a stop with enough horrible screeching to make everyone in earshot either run away or come and see how they could profit from it. Jason would wrap this up quickly.

That thought instantly got proven wrong when the truck’s doors opened and a weird were-hyena thing and a guy with a fucking swastika emblazoned on his chest stepped out. Jason had to scour his memory pretty thoroughly to remember that they were Hyena and Captain Nazi, supervillains that had never set foot in Gotham before, as far as he was aware.

“Well, I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting this,” Jason said. “What, did Black Mask throw darts at a list of supervillains or something?”

The two had closed the distance between them by that point, so Jason had to quickly dodge out of the way of a slash and a punch. “We are not joining forces with Black Mask,” Captain Nazi declared. “Black Mask is joining forces with us!”

Jason rolled his eyes under the helmet. “Thank you, that distinction matters so much to me right now,” he said, dodging another of Hyena’s attacks. Under other circumstances, he might give more thought to Captain Nazi’s boasting and try to figure out how exactly they came to team up. Right now, though, he was too busy trying to figure out how he was not going to die in the next five minutes without using his powers.

Going with such obscure opponents was actually working in their favor, because Jason couldn’t remember much about them. He knew that Captain Nazi was a Nazi that got experimented on to the point that he could pose a threat to Captain Marvel, and Hyena was some kind of were-hyena that fought Firestorm. That was about it. Not a great starting point to come up with a plan of attack mid-fight.

Batman’s advice for these kinds of situations had always been ‘call for help and wait for me’. That wasn’t exactly an option now… or was it?

Captain Nazi just had to keep up the trash-talk and interrupt his train of thought. “Indeed, it does not matter to you. You shall be dead soon enough.”

Jason dodged another of Hyena’s attacks, kicked him away, and opened fire on Captain Nazi. Nobody in this part of town was going to call the police about a crashed truck or gunfire, separately, but the two combined might just do the trick. Especially if they took a look and saw who Phoenix was fighting. Gothamites disliked non-local heroes and villains butting into their city as much as Batman did. And if word reached the police, there was a good chance it would reach Batman, too.

The bullets, as expected, didn’t do much except have Captain Nazi finally join in the fight instead of standing around monologuing. In a way, the fight was fun. Going up against nothing but mediocre thugs was a chore, so it was nice to finally find a challenge. In another way, it was very much not fun, because he was toe-to-toe with two metas while constantly having to suppress his own powers. The urge to just telekinetically crush their skulls became more and more appealing with every blow.

 _You don’t know how you got your powers,_ he told himself as Hyena’s claws left a painful gash in his arm.

 _You don’t know if they have a price._ Captain Nazi punched him in the helmet hard enough to make it crack.

 _You don’t know what’s in the White Hot Room._ There were too many stars in his eyes for him to see who it was that threw him into the side of the truck.

Reason and logic sounded a lot less reasonable and logical as he slid down the dented metal to the hard concrete, the impact jarring what he was almost positive was at least one broken rib. Thank God or the thing in the White Hot Room or whatever the hell was responsible for Batman choosing that moment to intervene.

For the first time since he’d died, seeing Batman didn’t make Jason angry. The sight of his familiar silhouette landing and rising to his feet between Jason and his opponents hit him with waves of relief and certainty that everything would be okay now, because Bruce was here.

He quickly dismissed those feelings and staggered back to his feet. “You’re late,” he grumbled.

Batman looked back at him for a moment, jaw clenched. If he’d been considering replying with a quip of his own like in the old days, he thought better of it, turning back to Hyena and Captain Nazi and slipping a hand into his utility belt. Back in Jason’s Robin days, that pocket held his shock batarangs, but who knew how Batman’s organizational system had changed since then. So long as he hadn’t started sorting his books alphabetically instead of by genre, Jason didn’t care.

Jason reached into a pocket of his own for his kris, and the two of them took a single heroic step forward before everything went straight back to hell.

At first, Jason thought the world had turned upside down. Then he wondered if his telekinesis had gone haywire again and was lifting him upside down. Then he suspected that he had somehow become capable of feeling the Earth’s rotation and flight through space. Then Batman growled, “Count Vertigo.”

Ah. Fuck. “How many fucking bad guys did Black Mask scrape from the bottom of the barrel?” Jason grunted. He heard footsteps rapidly approaching and tried to dodge. He did succeed, technically, because the hit didn’t connect. He just hadn’t intended on losing his balance and falling to the ground in an undignified sprawl. The laughter that followed was definitely human, so Jason assumed he was dealing with Captain Nazi.

He closed his eyes and rolled away before he got hit by another attack. Closing his eyes helped with the nausea, but it still felt like his head made twice as many rotations as the rest of him and his ribs screamed in protest.

“I hope you’ve got a plan, old man!” he called out. He pulled out his kris and made a wide slash toward the approaching footsteps he heard. He nearly lost his grip on it when it made contact and practically bounced off. Captain Nazi could walk off bullets, of course a knife wasn’t going to do much, no matter how much sentimental value it had.

Batman let out a grunt. To 99.9% of the universe, it would’ve sounded like a sign of annoyance. To Jason, it was practically an angel’s chorus to his ears, because it meant that he _did_ have a plan. There was, however, a certain gravel to it that meant it wasn’t going to immediately help Jason himself, so he had to hold out for a little longer.

 _Easier said than done,_ he thought to himself as Captain Nazi lifted him by the front of his jacket until his feet were dangling what might have been an inch or a foot off the ground. Fuck if he knew. Losing any point of connection to anything physical besides Captain Nazi’s fists made the vertigo approximately seven thousand and fifty-three percent worse. Maybe if he took off his helmet he could throw up in Nazi’s face and use the distraction to… do something.

“Any last words, Phoenix?” Captain Nazi asked, far too close for comfort. If it weren’t for his helmet, Jason would probably be able to smell what he’d had for dinner on his breath. Another of the helmet’s blessings was that he could roll his eyes undetected. If it weren’t for every villain’s insane need to draw things out with dramatics, Nazi could have already killed him and been off on his merry way by now. Instead…

An unfamiliar, accented voice cried out, “Hyena! What are you doing?! Stop!”

The world stopped spinning. Or, at least, Jason stopped being aware of it. He opened his eyes and looked over to see Hyena attacking Count Vertigo in a mad frenzy, and Batman dropping a piece of cloth that looked like it had been pulled from Vertigo’s cloak and slipping a syringe back into his utility belt. Jason didn’t have time to deduce how exactly those things came to be. If Captain Nazi decided to be smart, Jason would be dead before Batman could even take a step.

Jason considered taking the non-lethal approach. Then he remembered that Captain Nazi was, you know, a literal Nazi. Having such an up close and personal view of his face dislodged a neat little fun fact from his memory – Captain Nazi’s weak point was his cybernetic eyes. They were probably the reason he’d been immune to Count Vertigo’s powers, so it was a nice little bit of irony that they’d now be his doom.

A single flex of his hand told him that, courtesy of Hyena’s claws, he wouldn’t be able to stab as fast or aim as carefully as he’d like. Captain Nazi, having ascertained that his allies or comrades or whatever their relationship was were now out of commission, turned back to look at Jason with the smile of somebody who _really_ needed to die as soon as possible, for both moral and self-defense reasons. Jason closed his eyes and visualized Captain Nazi’s eyes being violently shoved deep into his brain.

The list of awful, horrible sounds Jason had heard was a very long one. The sound that told him he’d succeeded soared up the ranks to number two, right behind the Joker’s laugh. Captain Nazi’s grip on him vanished. Jason landed lightly on his feet and was already running by the time the body hit the ground with a _thud_ that rang far too loudly in his ears.

His broken rib must have subconsciously slowed him down. That must have been why Batman was able to catch up with him and cut him off so quickly. It couldn’t be that Batman was simply that much better than him. It was the rib. Definitely.

“What was that?” Batman demanded.

“Uh… an actual, literal, real-life Nazi?” Jason snapped. “Come on, even you’ve gotta admit Nazis are an exception to your one big rule.”

“There are no exceptions. And that wasn’t what I meant. How did you do that?”

Jason took as deep a breath as he could without aggravating his ribs to excruciating levels. He hadn’t given much thought to breaking the whole superpower thing to Batman, but he’d always intended on doing it after the Joker was dead, when Bruce saw him as a son instead of a threat. “Telekinesis,” he said simply.

Ruining his plans was almost worth it just for the expression on what he could see of Batman’s face. “Telekinesis,” he repeated, as if he might have misheard Jason saying ‘telephone’ or something else that made no sense in context but was much more pleasant to think about.

“Yup. Guess I picked some things up on the other side.” No way he was mentioning the White Hot Room. This conversation was already too big.

Jason could practically smell the smoke coming out of Batman’s brain as he struggled with comprehending this new information and also make as many deductions as possible. “Things, plural? What other powers do you have?”

Damn it, Jason really needed to watch what he said around the world’s greatest detective. “You’re about to find out, if you don’t get out of my way.”

Batman’s jaw and fists clenched. “Jason…”

Jason’s own fists clenched, regardless of the pain it caused. This would all be so much easier if he didn’t know any better and thought Bruce was angry at him. But no, he just had to know that anger was only one of the emotions making Bruce’s robot brain malfunction. His own brain felt like it was malfunctioning, too. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have this conversation with Bruce right now, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to walk away either.

“What happened to you?” Bruce asked.

Jason stared at the ground. Even with the cowl covering his eyes, Jason could see the concern in his gaze. It was suffocating enough that he had to check that he hadn’t let his mental barriers down and started reading his mind. For a moment, he was tempted to let them down and see what Bruce was really thinking, because this… this had to be an act.

He shrugged. “I died. I came back. I came here. What else do you need to know?”

Batman’s mouth twitched in frustration. “Everything.”

Jason laughed, harsh and loud as a clanging church bell. “No. You don’t need to. Trust me, you don’t even _want_ to.”

“Jason,” Batman said again, tired and lost and sad.

For a moment, Jason wanted to tell him everything. About the White Hot Room, Talia, Grodd, all the sickening thoughts he’d never be able to unhear. All of it. It was a stupid moment.

He pulled a gun out and aimed it at Batman. “Last warning, old man. Out of the way.”

“I want to help you,” said Batman gently, like Jason was some traumatized victim he was trying to calm down. Jason wanted Bruce to help him, too. More than just about anything else in the world. Except…

“I think we have very different ideas of what that means,” he said. “Right now, my idea of you helping me is to leave me the fuck alone before I shoot you.”

“Jason-“

Once again, an idea came to Jason, along with a bone-deep certainty that it would work. He shoved the gun back in its holster, ran to the right side of the roof, closed his eyes, and took a leap of faith, envisioning himself landing on a nearby building that was out of grappling range. He barely heard Batman’s startled yell over the wind whistling past his helmet, and before he could devote any more thought to it there was solid concrete beneath his feet.

He quickly made his way across the city, ignoring his injuries. He couldn’t even feel the pain anymore, except in his head, and he’d gotten a lot of practice at dealing with that. He wasn’t letting anything stop him, now. If he did the ‘smart’ thing and waited for his wounds to heal, then by the time he was back on his feet Black Mask could be bringing in fucking Darkseid to take him down for all he knew. Batman knew it was really him, so he was fresh out of reasons to delay his plan’s endgame.

Amusement Mile was more decrepit than he remembered it, and he remembered it after years of nobody except the Joker and his people wanting to get in spitting distance of it. Apparently even the Joker had given up on maintaining it. _That’s good news,_ Jason told himself. _He’s not in his right mind. I mean, he’s never in his right mind, but he should be easy to capture. If it feels like the setting of a horror movie, it’s because_ you’re _the monster, not him._

Finding the Joker was easy. Jason just had to follow the path of clown imagery. He had to stop in his tracks and close his eyes the moment he came into view, sitting on the ground with his back against some carnival stand too dilapidated to identify. It didn’t help, because Jason had relived his death so many times in flashbacks and nightmares that he’d memorized the sound of Joker’s breathing. _You can do this. You can do this. Just knock him out, tie him up, drag him to the nearest safehouse, mail his hair to the manor, make a deal with Black Mask to get Batman in the right place at the right time, and beat the shit out of the Joker while you wait. You can even do it with a crowbar._

He opened his eyes again, and _fuck_ , the Joker was looking at him. Jason could barely even see his actual, morose expression beneath the maniacally gleeful one his mind was superimposing over reality. _I can do this. I can do this._ He walked forward.

“Who are you?” the Joker asked.

_Which hurts more? Forehand, or backhand?_

Jason couldn’t do this. He had to kill him. He had to run away. He had to make him suffer. He had to do a million things, and all of them were mutually exclusive. In the end, the need that scratched and clawed its way to the top was the need to know _why._ Even with all the things he’d seen and the thoughts he’d heard, Jason still couldn’t understand how anyone could cause so much misery and destruction for so little reason. Asking why the Joker did the things he did was always an exercise in futility, so Jason only had one option to learn the truth.

He let down his barriers and dove straight into the Joker’s mind.

Jason was too overwhelmed for any sort of rational thought at first, but he was quickly overcome by a strange sort of calm clarity. Screw his plan. A mind like this couldn’t be allowed to exist for one nanosecond longer. The Joker had to die. _Now._ He had to be erased so thoroughly from the universe that nothing could bring him back. Not cloning, not magic, not even the gods themselves.

Jason grinned as everything went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does the Joker count as a Major Character Death? I want to make sure everything's tagged correctly.


	8. Afterburn

Batman leaned his head against the Batmobile’s steering wheel and let loose the great, shuddering breath that had been building in his chest since he’d first spotted Jason that night.

Alfred’s voice came over the comm. “It appears somebody has entered the Batmobile. Is it you, or shall I enact the security protocols?”

“It’s me,” Batman growled, ignoring the masochistic voice in his head telling him he deserved the electric shock and knockout gas.

“Excellent. Are you… well enough to give a report?”

Batman lifted his head. As unappealing as talking was at the moment, Alfred deserved to know that Jason was… No, ‘all right’ wasn’t the term. “I arrived on the scene and found Phoenix fighting Captain Nazi and Hyena. I interceded on Phoenix’s side, and Count Vertigo interceded on theirs. I injected Hyena with adrenaline and hit him with a piece of Vertigo’s cape, causing him to attack him. Phoenix killed Captain Nazi and escaped.”

“Are Hyena and Count Vertigo in custody?” Alfred asked.

Batman mentally kicked himself. “I… don’t know. I was too focused on pursuing Phoenix. Check the police reports.”

Alfred didn’t take long. “It appears that they were not at the scene when police arrived. Captain Nazi was, however. How, precisely, did Phoenix kill him?”

“Telekinesis. Apparently, he developed superpowers after his… after his death.”

Batman counted the seconds of Alfred’s silence. It lasted approximately twenty. “You spoke with him, then?”

“Yes. I…” He took a deep, calming breath. He couldn’t let himself be overwhelmed by his emotions. He had to think about this rationally. He was Batman. It was his job. Even if he was talking about his son’s murder. “He didn’t give any details. From what little he said, I believe that he has at least one more distinct power, and that he does not know how he obtained them.” _Guess I picked some things up on the other side._ For all the things that had changed in Jason, so much had remained exactly the way Bruce remembered, including his tone of voice when he was trying to pass the truth as a half-truth.

“Ah.” Alfred’s voice was even, but Batman could sense the tension in that one word. “I suppose that should not be a great surprise. There are few methods of resurrection that do not involve the supernatural.”

“Do… Do you think that whatever resurrected him is also affecting his behavior?” Bruce regretted the question as soon as he asked it. How could Alfred know? Magic was one of the few things not within his purview. He was just looking for reassurance that his son hadn’t become a murderer of his own volition.

“I could not say,” said Alfred delicately. “However, I fear I must say that, as much as I loved – _love_ that boy, it would not take much to convince him to cross certain lines.”

Bruce’s first instinct was to deny it. To say that of course Jason would never do any of this. But Jason was no longer nothing but a memory to be protected. Jason had grown up in Crime Alley, had always held so much anger in his heart, had at best watched Felipe Garzonas fall to his death and done nothing. He’d had nightmares about what Jason might have become if he hadn’t taken him in. Now he was seeing it first hand.

Alfred’s voice dragged him back out of his thoughts. “Even if that is the case, all is not lost. Judging by the reports, he’s been more akin to Robin Hood than the usual crime boss. I presume that your conversation did not end on good terms?”

“It did not.” It was difficult to think of worse terms than Jason literally flying away to escape the conversation. Was that another power, or was he doing it telekinetically? Maybe he should ask J’onn.

“Best to give him some space for the moment,” Alfred suggested. “He’s always been much more amenable to discussion when given time to cool off.”

“Right.” It was true. Bruce had learned that the hard way when he tried going into Jason’s room to apologize and received a copy of _The Count of Monte Christo_ to his face for the trouble. The memory drove the usual spike of grief into his heart, out of habit. _He’s alive. He’s not dead. If you handle this right, he’ll be throwing classical literature at you again soon enough._

“Are you certain you do not wish to inform anyone else of Phoenix’s identity?” Alfred asked.

Bruce considered it. He knew that everybody would want to know that Jason was alive. Even if he’d never gotten particularly close with Dick and Barbara or anyone from the Justice League, and never got to meet Tim and Cass, they’d want to know. They’d probably give Bruce an earful for not telling them the second the DNA results came back. With Onyx’s shoulder still healing, it would be helpful to have more hands on deck. It made sense.

It was sensible in the same way that creating Robin had been. The same sensibility that got both Jason and Stephanie killed.

“I’m certain,” said Batman. “They’ve already got enough on their plates.” _I can do this myself. If anyone gets hurt, it will be me. I’ll tell them when Jason’s safe and himself again._

“Very well. Might I suggest you retire for the night?” It was Alfred's polite way of saying, _You’re in no state to patrol. Go home._

Batman started up the Batmobile. “No. I need to find Vertigo and Hyena before they cause any more damage.” It was a decent enough excuse. Taking out his anger on criminals would be much more productive than using a punching bag back at the Cave.

It didn’t matter, in the end. He didn’t even get to the crime scene before Alfred’s voice came over the comm again. “Batman, there appears to be a fire spreading through Amusement Mile that the fire department cannot put out.”

Batman whispered a silent curse. “What do you mean, they cannot put it out?”

“The reports say that all water sprayed on it evaporates on contact, as does foam and chemical flame inhibitors.”

Just like Mr. Freeze’s attack _._ Jason had pyrokinesis. No wonder he’d gone for the Phoenix moniker. Why start a fire, though? And why Amusement – Oh.

“Was the Joker there?”

Alfred paused a moment. “According to the most recent reports, yes.”

Batman did a U turn and barreled toward Amusement Mile as fast as his well-trained driving skills could take him. Now that he was looking, he could faintly see smoke billowing into the sky amidst the smog and darkness.

It didn’t make sense. Jason was smart, even when he was overwhelmed by his emotions. There were a thousand ways he could have killed the Joker without endangering innocent lives. And if he did want to kill the Joker, why wait? Why not do it the moment he arrived in Gotham? Was this all some strange bid to get Batman’s attention? He could have just sent a message to the manor if he wanted that.

He pulled to the side of the street once the flames came into view. They were almost blinding against Gotham’s usual gloom. He blinked the spots out of his eyes and stepped out of the Batmobile. The fire didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, for all that was worth. The harsh heat on the exposed parts of his face seemed hotter than usual, but that could just be his imagination.

A familiar tingling sensation brushed against his head. Somebody was trying to use telepathy on him. He immediately started mental defense techniques, and used what little brainpower was left over to wonder what was going on. Had Black Mask hired another meta to deal with Phoenix? Was this why Jason had started the fire? Or was the fire started by another meta?

His focus was nearly shattered when the wall of fire opened before him, as if he were Moses’ antithesis. The logical part of him – the Batman part – said that this was almost certainly a trap, and that he should leave and contact the Watchtower for advice from a trustworthy pyrokinetic. The Bruce part of him said that trap or not, Jason was probably in there.

For once, Bruce won out. He grabbed a gas mask from the Batmobile and entered the gap. It closed behind him, and continued to do so as he continued. It was a long, hard, and extremely hot walk, even with his heat-resistant gear. It was hard to tell how much of his sweat was from the heat, and how much was from the stress. There was definitely a good deal of stress, especially when he realized that he wasn’t just dealing with inextinguishable fire. All of the carnival structures that hadn’t already been burned to ash were in the air, floating, burning, bending, and shattering. He saw some pieces of utterly molten metal twisting around each other like angry snakes. What looked like the remains of a rollercoaster were almost doing cartwheels against the sky, making terrible crunching and screeching sounds as they went.

Batman activated his comm. “Agent A, contact me in half an hour. If I don’t respond, contact the Watchtower and tell them I need help dealing with a powerful pyrokinetic, telekinetic, and a telepath of unknown power.”

“Do you mean three individuals, or one with all three powers?”

Batman thought it over. Did Jason have telepathy, too? It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. Telepathy and telekinesis often went hand in hand. If Phoenix were going through his victim’s minds looking for the bad, it would certainly make him feel more justified in killing them. Jason always had a nasty tendency to overwhelmingly see the worst in people. Had he read Batman’s mind without him noticing? No, he couldn’t have. If he had, he would have seen that Bruce only wanted to help him. Wouldn’t he?

An awful explanation for the current situation reared its head in Batman’s mind. What if Jason had decided to read the Joker’s mind? Even J’onn, who had no personal grudge against the Joker and centuries of telepathic experience, had struggled with what he found in there. Perhaps seeing into the mind of his killer caused Jason to lash out and lose control. That had been dangerous enough when Jason didn’t have superpowers.

“Batman? Are you still there?”

Batman shook himself. “The number of individuals is unknown. I need to concentrate. Batman out.”

Thirty-four footsteps later, the dark silhouette of a kneeling figure came into view. They looked to be the same size as Jason, and wearing a similar helmet, but it was too indistinct to be certain. Batman ignored his foolish paternal urges and approached slowly and cautiously. “Phoenix?” he called out.

The figure showed no sign of having heard him.

Batman stayed silent until he was close enough to see that it was Jason, and there was nothing else in the small fire-clearing but scorched earth and ash. “Jason,” he said, trying to achieve the perfect balance of gentleness that would show he meant no harm but not make Jason think he was pitying him.

The gentle brush on his mind became a chokehold. Batman redoubled his focus on his defenses, barely having enough spare brainpower to notice himself automatically clutch at his head and fall to his knees. It quickly became obvious that the telepath wasn’t letting up any time soon, and the odds of there being another fireproof meta hiding nearby were very low, so he crawled over to Jason, grabbed him by the shoulders, and yelled, “Jason, stop it!”

The pressure vanished, and Jason’s helmet moved ever so slightly to look at him. It was something, at least, but it was still far too small a reaction to be normal. If Jason were fully snapped out of whatever trance or daze he was in, he’d be trying to escape the hold, or at least tense up a little.

 _It could be worse,_ he tried to assure himself. _At least he’s not trying to hurt you._

“Jason, I need you to take off your helmet,” he said, slowly and clearly. It was too hard to read Jason like this without being able to see his face. He’d try to take it off himself, but he’d taught Jason too well for there not to be some sort of nasty surprise for anyone who tried without knowing the correct, precise sequence of movements.

It took a conscious effort not to tighten his grip on Jason’s arms as the helmet came off seemingly on its own, dropping carelessly to the ground in a way that only worsened the cracks already in it from his fight with Captain Nazi and Hyena.

Even with the domino mask hiding his eyes, Batman knew that something was very, very wrong. Jason’s expression was entirely blank. Batman remembered training his poker face quite vividly, and it would take more than a few years to improve it to this level. Jason always let something through, even if it was only noticeable to Bruce and Alfred. It was why he’d always gone for a smug smile instead. He’d been _very_ good at that.

Batman reached up and pried off the mask. Jason’s eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused to the point that Batman wasn’t sure he could really see anything. He jerked a finger across his field of vision and didn’t get so much as an instinctual glance.

Batman took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and released it. This was obviously a delicate situation, and he had to remain calm. “Jason, I know you can hear me. Please look at me.”

Jason blinked, and his gaze focused in on Bruce’s eyes – or, at least, where his eyes should be. Bruce quickly yanked off the cowl. He had to maximize every connection they had.

“Good. That’s good. Can you talk to me?”

Jason was silent for a solid ten seconds before he rasped, “Hi.”

“Okay. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I killed the Joker.”

This time, Batman couldn’t stop his grip tightening. He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and reassessed the situation. He’d already considered this scenario, and he thought he’d prepared for it. What he hadn’t been prepared for was Jason seeming so… empty. He’d been ready for a grin, for laughter, maybe even for tears. Clearly, there had been tears at some point, but they had run dry now, and they’d left nothing behind.

Now wasn’t the time for confrontation. Part of Bruce hoped that the time for this confrontation would never come. Part of him felt a sense of relief more profound than any he’d felt before. The Joker was dead. If anyone deserved to – No. Nobody deserved execution. If Batman stopped believing in that, who knew what else he’d stop believing in? He shoved that part of him away, along with the part insisting that the confrontation needed to happen here and now. The likelihood of Jason seriously hurting or killing him, even accidentally, was far too high.

“We can talk about that later,” said Bruce. “Right now, I need you to put this fire out, okay? If you don’t, a lot of innocent people are going to get hurt.”

Jason’s gaze unfocused again, and stayed that way. Batman gave him a gentle shake until he was looking at him again. “I can’t,” he said, far-away and almost dreamily. “It’s too small, and _it’s_ too big.”

Batman wasn’t sure he’d ever heard a sentence that made less sense. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

Batman didn’t know what to do. The only thing he could come up with was trying to snap Jason out of it by attacking him, but doing that would probably get him killed, and that would just make Jason’s state worse. Bruce sighed and let his head hang.

“Are you angry?”

Bruce lifted his head again. Jason’s face was still too blank, his voice still a void, but it was something. It was familiar. Jason asked that question a lot back when he’d first arrived at the manor, couldn’t read Bruce’s mood, and still thought all adults dealt with anger by using the closest living thing as a punching bag.

Bruce gave the familiar response. “Not at you.” He was angry at whatever had given Jason so much power and so little control, at all the people that had hurt Jason to the point that he thought killing was good, and most of all he was angry at himself for not being there for Jason before, and not knowing how to be here for him now.

“Would you have done it, then?”

“Done what?” Batman asked.

“Killed him.”

Batman felt like his brain was in danger of overheating, and not just from the fire. A new hypothesis formed, one that made as much sense as it made bile rise in his throat. “Is that what you wanted? You did all this so that I would kill the Joker?”

“Yes. Would it have worked?”

“No,” Batman said instantly, and just as quickly bit his tongue. There was a time and a place for stubborn integrity, and in front of somebody possibly possessed and definitely powerful and unstable was not one of them.

Jason let out a quiet, breathless laugh. Batman couldn’t tell if it was progress or not, especially when it was followed up by, “I wasn’t going to just _ask_ you.”

Batman had let down his mental defenses, and Jason was too fast for him to put them back up in time. It wasn’t the first time somebody had succeeded in invading his mind, but it was the first time somebody had done it so… clumsily. It didn’t feel like Jason was trying to hurt him on purpose, but he was like a bull in a china shop fumbling his way to his goal. Batman’s vision went white, and when it came back into focus, he was standing in an apartment with the weight of a gun in his hands, watching Jason put his own gun to the Joker’s temple.

It was honestly one of the worst illusions Batman had ever seen. Everything but Jason and the Joker was out of focus, like a cartoon that didn’t have the budget for detailed backgrounds. If that weren’t enough to show that Jason wasn’t thinking straight, the foreign feelings brushing against Bruce’s own did the trick. Jason was a maelstrom of emotions moving too quickly and strongly to be properly defined.

At the very least, this illusion allowed Jason’s face to finally show some kind of expression, and Bruce almost wished to have unnatural blankness back. “This is how it was supposed to go,” Jason explained, voice raw. “The only way you can stop me from killing the Joker is to shoot him, or shoot me. Make your choice.”

Bruce knew the choice Jason wanted him to make, and he knew the choice he would have actually made in this situation. They were polar opposites. If he told the truth, who knew how Jason would react, and if he lied, Jason wouldn’t believe him and react just as badly. Best to do the thing he’d do if this were real; create his own choice.

“If this is what you wanted, then why did you kill him?” he asked.

“I… It doesn’t matter,” Jason snarled.

“Neither does this,” said Batman, brandishing the gun in his hand. It didn’t look real, either. Too nondescript. “It never happened, and it’s never going to happen. The Joker’s dead. You won. It’s over.”

Jason shook his head. “No. It’s not over until you…” His expression started going blank at the same speed the illusion lost what little detail it had. Bruce knew in his gut that this was not a good thing.

“Until I what, Jason?” he prompted.

“You’re right.” Jason’s voice was dull again, and the illusion grew paler and paler. “It doesn’t matter.” A discordant chorus whispered in Batman’s ear, and the heat returned. “You need to go.”

“No,” Batman said instantly.

Jason’s blankness vanished, replaced by naked terror. “No, no, no, no, no,” he muttered. “You can’t. You have to go.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Batman growled. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Jason kept shaking his head, wet eyes reflecting the bright light surrounding them. The whispering was getting louder, and the heat was almost at unbearable levels. “I… It’s too much. I got out of the Room, but it’s still too much. You aren’t used to it. You have to _get out_.”

Bruce blinked and opened his eyes back in reality, facing a blank-faced Jason.

He took a deep breath, and tried to think things through as logically as possible. The first thing he did was figure out a timeline of events. After killing Captain Nazi, Jason decided to enter the endgame of his plan and capture the Joker. Something went wrong, and Jason killed him. The emotional fallout caused his powers to go haywire, starting a fire, telekinetically affecting everything in reach, and… getting overwhelmed by others’ thoughts? That would explain why he seemed so unaware of his surroundings. When Batman got in range, he let him in because… Because he wanted to see him? It seemed the most likely reason, as difficult to believe and wonderful as it was.

So, in essence, Jason was having something like a superpowered panic attack and subconsciously wanted Bruce there for him. If he ignored the superpower aspect, that was familiar territory. He could do this.

He cupped Jason’s face in his hands and said, “Jason, focus on my voice.” He realized that wasn’t going to work, so he pressed his forehead against Jason’s and banished his mental defenses. “Focus on my thoughts.” For once in his life, he tried to think happy thoughts. It was surprisingly easy, with a warm, breathing, _living_ Jason right in front of him. They’d work everything out, somehow. They could worry about the details later.

He couldn’t suppress a smile when Jason’s mind brushed against his, then metaphorically crept in through the front door to take a cautious look around. Whether due to Jason’s mental state or his inexperience, the connection worked both ways. Bruce could vaguely sense what Jason was feeling. Even that vague sense gave him a headache. That didn’t hurt as much as the fact that the emotion Jason felt at seeing Bruce’s happiness at having him back was disbelief.

It took a great deal of self-control not to try and throw Jason back out when he started digging a little deeper in Bruce’s mind. It took even more when Jason lingered on the memories of Stephanie. He moved on quickly enough, though not before the sense of anger and grief grew so strong that Bruce couldn’t tell how much of it was his and how much was Jason’s. He lingered over Cass and Tim, too. Cass didn’t get too much of a reaction, just a touch of wistful longing for the idea of having a sister. Tim, however, got a blaze of rage strong enough to make Bruce choke. It ebbed slightly as he realized Tim had practically forced himself into the role of Robin, but there was still a sour taste in his mouth strong enough for Bruce to taste.

Then he reached his death. Bruce felt him avert his eyes at the memory of finding his body, and he didn’t look back until he was confronting the Joker. Jason was pleasantly surprised to see how differently it might have turned out had Superman not been there to stop Batman, and even more when he saw Bruce jump out of the helicopter and leave Joker to what should have been a watery grave.

They came back to reality abruptly enough that Bruce would have stumbled had he been standing. While it could be wishful thinking, he could swear that the fires had grown dimmer and cooler. What wasn’t wishful thinking was that Jason’s eyes were clear and focused on Bruce, even if they were growing wet with tears.

“Are you all right?” Bruce asked.

Jason laughed bitterly. “Have I _ever_ been all right?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bruce said drily.

Jason looked dumbfounded for a moment, and Bruce feared that he’d gone too far. With all the things that had changed, he shouldn’t have expected to be able to go right back to their old style of banter. Then Jason smiled and let out a short exhale that was practically a laugh. “I’m… better.”

Bruce decided that the chances of Jason stabbing him were worth it and pulled him into a hug. He didn’t hug back, and he was tenser than Bruce would like, but he didn’t fight it, so Bruce considered it a success. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised. He wasn’t quite sure what ‘this’ even was, but he knew he had to fix it. He was Batman. And if he couldn’t do it himself, he had connections with metas of every conceivable origin. Jason was worth far more than the embarrassment of asking for help.

His attention was caught by movement in the corner of his eye. His subconscious immediately realized what it was and made his stomach turn to ice. It took his conscious mind a few seconds to catch up and realize it wasn’t a shooting star or plane, and it was on a trajectory straight to Blüdhaven.

Jason sensed that something was wrong and pulled back to frown at Bruce. “What’s-“

Everything happened so quickly that Bruce wasn’t sure which came first. Bruce realized it was a missile, the missile hit its mark, Jason screamed, and Bruce was sent flying. The impact with the ground sent his head spinning too much to register whatever happened next. All he knew was that everything went bright, then cold, and by the time he could see straight Jason was gone.


	9. Easy as Breathing

Jason opened his eyes to a sky full of stars and a killer white-hot headache. His brain was too busy being in pain to wonder exactly this came to be, so he just closed his eyes and waited for the worst to pass. It was a slow and gradual process, so he was only able to register everything that was wrong one at a time.

  1. Even with his mind wide open, there wasn’t so much as a blip on his telepathic radar.
  2. He couldn’t feel the ground or a bed or any kind of surface at all beneath him.
  3. He couldn’t feel any sort of wind, so wrong thing #2 wasn’t because he was falling.
  4. His normal ears couldn’t hear anything except for his heartbeat, breathing, and all the other sounds his body made to keep itself alive.
  5. The last place he remembered being was Gotham, which hadn’t seen a starry sky for about a century.
  6. The last thing he remembered feeling was thousands of minds – some deserving, far too many not – dying as quickly as they did painfully.
  7. Bruce had been not even a foot away when he had a reaction strong enough to send him right back to the White Hot Room.



Jason opened his eyes again and turned his head. The rest of him followed suit, because he was floating in space without any ground or gravity or air resistance to stop him. At that point, his training kicked in and shoved the instinctive (and very reasonable) hysteria of _What the fuck what the fuck why am I in space what the fuck how am I not dead what the fuck what the fuck WHAT THE-_ to the back of his brain in favor of detached logic.

How did he get here? The psychic backlash of… whatever had happened must have tripped his fight-or-flight instincts, and for once flight won, in a very literal way. He supposed even his stupid outdated monkey brain realized you couldn’t punch death.

How was he alive? He didn’t know how long he’d been in the vacuum, but considering Earth was nothing more than another speck of light in the sky and even the speed of light would take a minute or so to get that far, he should already be dead. His powers must have been subconsciously keeping him alive, somehow. Now he had to figure out how it did it, because his conscious mind was insisting that it should be impossible and it might just convince his powers to let him die.

He must have created a telekinetic shield to maintain a bubble of Earth’s atmosphere or something. That explained why his blood wasn’t boiling. If that was the case, there was still the matter of oxygen. Helmet filters could only do so… oh, wait, he wasn’t wearing his helmet. He’d taken it off so he and Bruce could have their bonding moment, which he was _not_ going to think about because crying would just waste air. Had he brought the helmet with him? He really hoped so. He’d gotten pretty attached to it.

He shook himself. He had to focus. He swore the air was starting to taste stale. How was he going to turn carbon dioxide into oxygen? It couldn’t be that hard, right? Plants did it all the time, and he was smarter than a plant (most of them, anyway). ‘Oxide’ was in the name. The only difference was a carbon atom. Theoretically, it was just a matter of dislodging the carbon from the molecule. He moved large amounts of atoms all the time with telekinesis. This couldn’t be much different, right? Just a bit more… precise.

_Whatever you have in strength, you more than lack in dexterity._

“Shut up,” Jason growled to the void. The memory just made him more determined. He’d proven Grodd wrong before by beating him. He could do it again by doing something he probably never even dreamed of.

He pictured a bunch of carbon atoms leaving their oxygen partners as clearly as he could, which wasn’t much because atoms were, by definition, unfathomably tiny. He did his best to will the image into being. There wasn’t any visible sign of it working, but using the sun as a reference point (which was pretty difficult because it was about as blindingly bright as the White Hot Room) he did fourteen rotations without getting light-headed, so he assumed it was working.

Now he had nothing to think about except how he’d gotten here. He closed his eyes and took advantage of his air supply to take deep, calming breaths. Time for more detached logic. From what he’d gleaned from Bruce’s and all the victims’ minds, some sort of missile hit Blüdhaven and wiped out most of the city, possibly including Dick. The thought shouldn’t be that upsetting. Dick was just the guy whose shoes Jason could never fill and hung out with him _maybe_ a dozen times over the four years he was Robin. Any fond hair ruffles or nicknames or offers of emotional support were just Dick being nice, like he was to literally everyone.

And yet a shuddering wave of relief swept over Jason when he realized that he hadn’t noticed Dick’s mind amidst the turmoil, and he felt certain that he would have had it been there. He’d probably been off doing stuff with the Titans or whatever group he was working with now that he wasn’t a teen anymore. He’d be fine.

Bruce, on the other hand…

No. He was fine. If he’d managed to get through the fires to Jason in the first place, he’d be fine. Jason usually hated getting his hopes up for anything, but if he didn’t get his hopes up for this, he wouldn’t have any hope at all. It wasn’t like with the Joker. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him, he just wanted to get away.

Fuck, now he was thinking about the Joker. He shouldn’t be. He never had to think about him again. It was over. He was dead. Jason had won. Now he could move on and… and…

He hadn’t put much thought to what he’d do next, and none of those thoughts applied to a situation where he killed the Joker himself, didn’t convince Batman of jack shit except that he was both a pathetic child and a danger to everyone around him, and accidentally launched himself into space. To be fair to himself, he wasn’t sure anyone would have prepared for that situation.

He could try to start a new life. Leave it all behind, find a planet without any superheroes, and get to work helping people and shooting bad guys without any bad memories (or, worse, good ones) getting in the way. That could be nice, so long as he never wondered if he’d killed Bruce.

Okay. New life was a no go. He’d probably die of old age before he floated past anything habitable, anyway.

Back to Earth, then. The only question was whether he’d go back to Gotham or not. If Bruce was… No. Bruce was definitely alive, and it would take some fucking ludicrous mental gymnastics to fake wanting Jason back home that badly. He could go home, see Alfred again, try to… what? Be normal? Play the vigilante game by Batman’s rules? Pretend he’d never broken them in the first place?

There was a reason Bruce hadn’t let himself think that far ahead. Not even Batman himself, the man that imagined every possible outcome in excruciating detail, couldn’t imagine Jason coming home and having it go well beyond the first few steps. Not without ‘fixing’ him, freeing him from whatever terrible influence he thought he was under.

Was he under an influence? He didn’t think so. His current moral compass was perfectly explained by getting painfully murdered, replaced by his father figure, and left with a manipulative assassin fanatically loyal to her batshit father as the closest thing he had to emotional support. Right? The thing in the White Hot Room wasn’t controlling him. Hell, it had never even properly acknowledged him. He’d know if it was. Wouldn’t he? God fucking damn it, self-diagnosis was a bitch. He had no idea who to go to for help, either. Talia had been painfully thorough in her own investigation. If none of those assholes could figure out what was going on, the only way Jason could think of was to let somebody have a look around the White Hot Room. Only problem was that anyone he trusted in his head would also be someone he didn’t want getting brain-dead.

He pulled his knees up and curled into a fetal position. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Maybe he should just keep floating through space until a Lantern or someone flew by to give him wise, life-changing advice. Then he remembered that Hal Jordan was considered one of the universe’s greatest and discarded the idea. Clearly, wise advice wasn’t their forte.

It was impossible to keep time, so he didn’t know how long he spent wrestling with all his conflicting emotions and hopes and fears. All he knew was that it was long enough for thirst and hunger to set in. He could probably handle it telekinetically, but he’d have to do a lot more research on molecular models before he’d stake his life on it. It was time to go home, or at least back to Earth. He’d figure things out from there.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to fly back as fast as possible. He opened his eyes to make sure it worked, and quickly closed them again. The sight of the stars blurring like he was in Star Wars hyperspace made him feel sick, and he did not want his legacy to be a cloud of vomit floating through space for eternity.

He only opened them when he heard a roaring that signified he was back in an atmosphere capable of carrying sound. Once again, he closed them almost immediately, because apparently even telekinetic shields ignited during re-entry. His body may be immune to the heat of fire, but his eyes were still very vulnerable to the brightness of it. It was probably for the best, anyway. He couldn’t afford to have a fear of heights in his line of work, and watching yourself fall down to Earth through the entire atmosphere seemed like a good way to obtain one.

On the other hand, this meant he had no idea where he was going to land. It didn’t matter, right? His shield would take the damage. Hopefully. No, it _would._ If he believed it would, it would, and if he didn’t, it wouldn’t. It would be easy. All he had to do was forget all his knowledge on acceleration and terminal velocity and also not wonder if the universe might be better off if the fall killed him. It wouldn’t make the universe better for Bruce, at least. Whatever doubts he had on how much Bruce had exaggerated his own positive feelings for the sake of getting Jason calm enough to put out the fire, he believed that much. It would have to be enough.

What felt like hours of calming breaths later, he landed with a splash intense enough to sound more like a crash. The shield absorbed the impact, but it didn’t stop him from moving. It was only sheer, faster-than-lightning instinct that stopped him before he slammed into the bottom of the shield at terminal velocity. He didn’t know how exactly his instinct managed to bring him to both a safe and sudden stop. He wasn’t going to think about it, in case he came to the conclusion that it was impossible and his body immediately exploded.

He finally opened his eyes properly and took in his surroundings. He was underwater. Not surprising, really. Statistically speaking, it was more likely than landing on dry land. On the plus side, it meant far less chance of curious locals coming to investigate. On the negative side, it meant he had literally no idea where he was and how to get to land. He couldn’t swim in an air bubble, and he didn’t want what little money and fake identification he had on him to get wet, so he used telekinesis to rise up to the surface.

Seeing the familiar atmosphere-filtered light of the sun was more relieving than he’d expected. He let down the upper part of his shield and breathed in natural, salty air. One less thing to worry about. It was more than balanced out by all the other things he had to worry about now that he had to decide which direction to head in. If he floated here long enough, he could watch the sun to figure out which direction was which. It wouldn’t tell him which ocean he was in, though.

He realized he’d forgotten to put his mental barriers back up when something came in range. A whole group of somethings, and something really was the right word. He’d never sensed minds like this. The closest he’d encountered were babies that hadn’t learned to talk yet. They were aware of their surroundings and had a lot of thoughts and feelings going, but it was all instinct and impressions and shapes rather than actual words. More than that, nearly all of said instincts and impressions and shapes involved swimming and eating fish and… being angry at dolphins? Not dolphins as a species, but very specific dolphins for very specific reasons.

A few very confused and slightly worried minutes later, he spotted several dolphin fins dart above the waves as they came up for air. Wait. Was he reading dolphin minds? He’d never read the mind of any animal besides human… except for Grodd. Was it an intelligence thing? He knew cetaceans were smart, but he hadn’t thought they were telepathy levels of smart. Huh. You learn new things every day.

Intelligent or not, they didn’t understand human geography, so they wouldn’t be able to help him figure out where he was. The sun had moved enough for him to see where west was, so he headed east. If he was in the Pacific, he’d end up on the opposite side of the continent from Gotham. If he was in any other sea, he’d be on a different continent. Unless some new inland sea had popped up in North America when he wasn’t looking. Wait, did the Hudson Bay count as one? Whatever. He’d still be in good ol’ Canada.

He put his shield back up and went back underwater to start ‘swimming’ fast enough to hopefully get to dry land before he got thirsty enough to try drinking seawater, but not so fast that he accidentally caused any tidal waves. It didn’t take too much thought, and the scenery didn’t take too long to lose its novelty, so his brain found nothing better to do than try to process everything he’d been able to put off until now.

Jason had killed the Joker. Everything from that moment and when Bruce showed up was a white blur, but he knew that with absolute certainty. If his powers had granted his wish, as they always seemed to whether he liked it or not, then there wouldn’t be so much as a blood spatter left. Was that a mistake? The Joker had been presumed dead so many times that nobody was going to believe it unless they saw his dead body for themselves, and even then they might think it was a cloned decoy or something. Everyone in Gotham would still be looking over their shoulder and jumping at the sound of shrill laughter for a long, long time.

No point regretting it now. No point feeling anything about the Joker, except maybe relief. So why was Jason still…

He needed his helmet. Being bare-faced left him too vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. He closed his eyes, held out a hand, and prayed that he’d brought it along with him. He sighed happily as he felt it fly into his grip. It was the last straw, though, because he was immediately overcome with exhaustion and a renewed headache.

He slipped the helmet on and kept his eyes closed. The bubble would stay in place if he went to sleep, right? It stuck around in space before he was even consciously aware of it. He hoped he’d keep moving, too. If he didn’t, that was a lot of time wasted aimlessly floating. He knew he should stay awake for a while longer, hopefully until he came across a boat and was able to stow away, but he was just so… tired…

In hindsight, he’d put it entirely down to exhaustion, but his brain decided to latch onto the memories of when he’d come back from patrol with Batman so tired he’d fall asleep on the medical cot getting his injuries treated or in the Batcomputer chair trying to type up a report. He’d always wake up tucked into his own bed. Having people to watch over him and do little things like that was… nice… He wished he had that again…

Next thing he knew, he was staring up at a clear blue sky, lying on what felt like sand, the smell of salt and sound of seagulls, waves, and distant traffic in the air, and the thoughts of an entire city laying siege to his mind. He blocked them out and took in his visual surroundings as he slowly got to his feet. He was on an empty beach, and in the distance he could see what was either the Golden Gate Bridge or a very good replica. San Francisco, then? Far from the worst city to wash up in.

His legs were unsteady, the rest of him was stiff, he was distractingly hungry and thirsty, he had maybe two hundred dollars on him, and he was in unfamiliar territory with no allies. It really said something about his life that he considered this situation pretty favorable. Then again, being able to apparently do whatever the fuck he wanted with telekinesis made most situations pretty favorable.

He took off his helmet and armor and hid them behind a distinctive log of driftwood. Without them, he was just another big, vaguely threatening guy in a leather jacket. San Francisco had a lot of those, right? He sure hoped they did. If not… well, he’d need to get some more clothes, anyway. He set off toward the city.

Step one: Research. As he walked, he patted himself down and found a burner phone. He turned it on and immediately winced at the number of missed texts and voice mails. Oh, yeah, he was kind of a crime lord, and he’d randomly vanished in the night without a word. That alone didn’t account for the volume, though. Did Black Mask smell the blood in the water and move to retake what he thought was his? Were they all freaking out about the fire?

He ignored it and opened Google Maps. His plans had gone up in flames just like Amusement Mile. Tempting as it was to go back to Gotham just to put a bullet in Black Mask’s head, that city was full of triggers for him. If he encountered a bad one at the wrong time, he could do a lot more harm than killing Sionis would compensate for. Phoenix's people were smart enough to get the hell out of dodge, and the ones who weren’t wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.

Google Maps wasn’t loading. He flicked his eyes up to the top of the screen and saw that he didn’t have data on. He went into settings to turn it on, only to get a pop-up informing him that he didn’t have access to this service. He turned the phone around to get a better look at it. He could have sworn he’d gotten a data plan on this one. He tapped the home button, and his eyes were drawn to the inconsistency he now realized had been bugging him ever since he’d turned on the phone.

The date said it was December 17th – a solid month after the last date he remembered.

The realization froze him in his tracks. That couldn’t be right. Going into space must have messed it up. He went to his text messages to make sure and – Nope, the dates and increasing panic and anger in the messages were all in line with a month having passed without him even noticing. Had he spent an entire month floating in space? Or was it while he was asleep and adrift in the ocean? Or was it both? He’d blacked out – or rather, whited out – before, but the longest he’d been out was a day, and that was when Talia really pushed him by having him lift a tank. Ah, for the days when lifting a tank was hard…

He resumed walking. It didn’t really matter how long he’d been gone, he supposed. In fact, this might be for the best. By now, things would have cooled down a little. Black Mask was a lot less likely to sic any more bizarre supervillains on him, and Batman… Fuck. As far as Batman knew, Jason had flown up into the sky and vanished from the face of the Earth for an entire month. Exaggerated lovey-dovey feelings or not, he was probably on one hell of a self-destructive rampage.

_If he hasn’t been dead for an entire month._

All right. Change of plan. Jason tried calling the manor. All he got was a pre-recorded message politely reminding him that he hadn’t paid his phone bill, dumbass. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and picked up the pace. Once he got into the city proper, he put off admiring the architecture or getting his bearings in favor of finding a payphone. In this modern age of ubiquitous cellphones, it took so long to find one that he was seriously considering holding someone at gunpoint to help jog their memory on local phone locations.

Finally, he spotted one. He rushed over and, in his haste and the finger-trembling realization that he’d probably hear Alfred’s voice on the other end, had to try a couple time to punch in the number right. Doubt set in as the phone rang. Had they changed their number? It wouldn’t be too surprising, considering how hard the paparazzi tried to get their hands on their private information. What if Alfred assumed he was a telemarketer and didn’t bother picking up?

 _Click._ “Wayne residence. How may I help you?”

It was a good thing he was in public with people around. Otherwise he might have burst into tears at the sound of Alfred’s voice. “Hey, Alfie, it’s Jason,” he said, like he was calling to let him know he’d be staying at the library a while longer, and it hadn’t been nearing four years and his voice hadn’t dropped an octave and the world wasn’t a shithole.

Alfred was only silent for a moment. “I do not believe I can properly convey how happy I am to hear from you, Master Jason.” To his credit, there was only the slightest of trembles in his voice on only a few words in the sentence.

“Right,” said Jason, having completely forgotten what he’d been planning on saying in this call, if he’d ever had any plan at all. “I… just wanted to let you and Bruce know I’m still alive.” _And also to know if Bruce is still alive._

“I’ll be sure to pass on the message. Knowing Master Bruce, however, he will only truly believe it when he sees you in person.”

“ _If_ he sees me in person,” muttered Jason, mostly to himself.

Alfred still heard it. “You do not wish to see him?”

Jason tightened his grip on the phone until he feared it would break and clamped down hard on his telekinesis. “No,” he lied. It sounded fake even to his own ears, so he switched tracks. “By the way, what actually happened to Blüdhaven?” He didn’t want to worry Alfred by telling about the whole space thing, so he was banking on the publicly available reports containing _maybe_ half of the truth.

Even through the phone line, Jason knew that Alfred knew exactly what he was doing, but took pity on him and decided to play along. “As with all things in this line of work, it was a rather complicated affair. How long do we have to speak?”

Of course. “Is Dick dead or not?” he snapped.

“He is alive,” Alfred assured him too instantly to be lying. “And should he follow medical advice, he shall be well again in short order.”

Jason did _not_ breathe a sigh of relief, because he _did not_ care and he _would not_ have Alfred thinking he did. Instead, he rolled his eyes and said, “So you’re saying he’s out of commission for a long time.”

“If he were recovering alone, yes. However, I trust Miss Gordon to ensure his speedy recovery.”

Good. Babs was almost as good as Alfred at tying uncooperative Bats to their hospital beds with guilt. Not that he cared or anything. “Right,” said Jason, again, because he’d run out of conversation topics. Bruce and Dick were alive. He’d accomplished everything he’d wanted to in this phone call. There wasn’t anything stopping him from hanging up now and moving on to… whatever it was he’d do next.

He didn’t hang up, even as the silence stretched like an elastic band. The inevitable, painful snap came when Alfred asked, “Might I ask where you have been this past month? Master Bruce searched for you quite exhaustively.”

 _Oh, don’t worry, I was just floating around unconscious in the vacuum of space and then floating around unconscious in the ocean. No biggie._ “It doesn’t matter.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended. Alfred didn’t deserve that. “I…” _I’m sorry. I miss you. I miss all of you. I want to go home. I don’t want to hurt you. I need help. I don’t know what to do._ “I should go. Bye.”

He hung up before Alfred could convince him not to and walked away. He had food and water to find, money to make, scumbags to kill, and a whole lot of planning to do. So long as he kept himself busy enough, he wouldn’t have any time to feel regret.


	10. Cain, Abel, and Stone

Jason wasn’t back at square one. He reminded himself of this very often during his time in San Francisco. He had his helmet, fake ID’s that would hold up against ninety percent of scrutiny, several bank accounts full of blood money (not as many as before, but he couldn’t blame his people for taking a cut from the guy that left them out to dry), and enough crime to keep busy and have a little fun. Clearly, the Teen Titans were still too busy fighting aliens and demons up in their almost literal ivory tower to do much about all the low-level crime right beneath their noses, and the city knew it.

Jason found himself spending a lot of time staring at that tower. From the outside, at least, it looked practically identical to the one he remembered back in New York. The one he used to dream of staying in for more than the occasional brief visit, once Batman stopped being so overprotective and let him join the team. In hindsight, it was a stupid dream, just like all the others. Even if Batman did agree, there was no way Nightwing and his friends would let him join. They tried to hide it and be nice to him, to their credit, but their bitterness and anger at him for replacing precious, perfect Dick Grayson was obvious. They weren’t going to risk letting Jason replace him in the Titans, too.

Apparently, though, none of that applied to the Replacement – Tim. Everybody welcomed him with open arms. Every time Jason stared at the tower, he wondered if the Replacement was there, where in the tower he’d be, how good the security was, how easy it would be to –

And then he’d shake himself and find something to do. And every time he did, another piece of a plan slotted into place. As it grew more and more defined, he couldn’t stop himself doing a little recon and research on the tower. And once he did that, and once he finally saw the Replacement in the flesh and _Jason’s_ costume, no matter how much it had been redesigned, the justifications came flooding in. He was already hearing rumors about a murderous vigilante in a phoenix-like helmet spreading through the city. Even without using his powers, he wasn’t exactly being inconspicuous. If the Titans weren’t complete idiots, which they’d have to be to still be alive, they were going to come after him. Better for Jason to go after them first. And if he just so happened to go after the Replacement first… well… it was for his own good, really. Maybe a good beatdown would make him see the light and give up Robin before it killed him, too.

See? He had reasons besides the vindictive desire to make the Replacement suffer for stealing his life.

Once actual news reports starting coming out about the mysterious new vigilante that looked awfully like that crime lord in Gotham, Jason considered it his cue to enter stage left.

The security system clearly had a significant Bat influence, which meant Jason knew how to circumvent it. The interior of the building was smaller than he’d expected, which was probably because he was comparing it to his memories of the old tower back before his post-resurrection growth spurt. As much as he hated all the old feelings that came with the memories, he couldn’t just push them aside, because they were pretty damn useful in figuring out the layout of the place. It was almost eerie how similar it was.

_Now, if I were still Robin, where would I be?_

It took some imagination. His past visits to the tower were usually spent trailing after Nightwing like an excited puppy. That was one memory he could safely shove into the pit with all the other unwanted ones. Plus, the Replacement was a different person, with different interests and a different approach to Robin that everybody loved so much more than Jason’s.

A hidden (to people besides Jason, anyway) camera went _crunch_ and fell to the floor in a mangled ball.

Jason reined in his anger. He didn’t want to use his powers against the Replacement. He wanted to beat him fair and square. There wasn’t any reason he wouldn’t be able to. He was bigger, stronger, more experienced, and a lot more ruthless. The only hard parts would be finding him and making sure none of his friends interfered. He could do the former without powers, too, and the latter… he wasn’t sure. A lot of shit had gone down lately, and he had no idea who was actually on the team besides the Replacement. Whoever they were, they wouldn’t be a problem if Jason found Robin first and played on the pride and unwillingness to accept help that Batman always made sure to accidentally pass on to all his students. With the right words, the Replacement himself would be keeping his friends out of it.

Footsteps. Somebody was coming. Jason backtracked a little and hid in a storage closet so unimportant that nobody had bothered to close the door. He didn’t let himself get a good look at what was actually in it and instead focused on the footsteps. They _could_ be the Replacement’s – light, quick, sure. Once they’d passed, Jason silently stepped back out of the closet to see an all too familiar, colorful silhouette.

He’d made the cape black with yellow relegated to lining. A smart move, logically speaking. Illogically…

All the doors in the hall slammed shut. Jason had just enough time to shift into a relaxed yet cool stance before the Replacement whirled around to face him. The domino mask wasn’t nearly enough to hide his shock. “Phoenix?” he said. Jason couldn’t tell what emotion his voice was laden with, but it was definitely a strong one.

“Surprised to see me?” Jason asked, light as the taste of arsenic.

“Uh… yeah? I mean, I wasn’t expecting… What are you doing here?”

Jason frowned beneath the helmet. The Replacement clearly wasn’t scared, so why was he stumbling over his words like a toddler trying to walk on ice? He tried not to let the frown show in his voice as he said, “I figured you and your friends would be coming after me any day now, and I like to take the aggressive approach.”

The Replacement shifted uncomfortably. Not nearly uncomfortably enough. Was he not at all threatened? How the fuck had he lasted this long? “Well… yeah, we were planning on trying to track you down. Everybody’s really worried about you.”

Now it was Jason feeling uncomfortable. Worried? That… wasn’t what he’d expected. That wasn’t what he wanted. He’d killed, like, fourteen people in this city. People were supposed to be trying to stop him, not worry about him. “Who’s ‘everybody’, exactly?” he said aloud. “I didn’t make many friends when I was in the pixie boots, and I sure as hell ain’t making many now.”

“Okay, some of them are more worried about what you might do,” the Replacement admitted. “But they don’t know you. All they know is –“ He hesitated.

“A murderer with superpowers?” Then the implications of the statement clicked. “So, you’re saying that _you_ know me?” Oh, Jason could see it now. Every time the Replacement made a mistake, or got too cocky, or ignored any of his stupid orders, Batman swooping in and growling, _Jason used to do that. Do you want to end up like him?_

“I…” The Replacement breathed in and drew himself up, banishing most of his visible nerves. “Yes. I do. I figured out who Batman and Robin were back when it was Nightwing, but you’re the one I think of when I think of Robin. You were my hero. I saw you risk your life to protect people you didn’t even know almost every night. I saw you cry over the people you couldn’t protect. And what I didn’t see for myself, Agent A told me about. I know that you’re a good person. Whatever reasons you have for what you’re doing now, I know that you think they’re good ones and what you’re doing is helping people. But –“

“There it is,” said Jason, smirking bitterly to himself. “There’s always a ‘but’ when people start complimenting me.” It was better for everyone if he focused on that instead of the compliments themselves. He knew that the Replacement had been following them around from Batman’s memories, but he hadn’t realized he’d been stalking him so – No, he wasn’t thinking about it.

“ _But_ you’re wrong. Killing isn’t the way to help people.”

Jason let out a growl he hoped sounded downright animalistic through the helmet. “And there _that_ is. If I wanted to have this argument, kid, I’d skip the middleman and go yell at Batman.”

“You’re only two years older than me,” said the Replacement reproachfully.

Shit, really? He looked so small. Jason would think it was another case of malnourishment if he didn’t know for a fact that the Replacement was born with a silver spoon and all the food it could bring in his mouth. “You’re sixteen, then? Well, congratulations on officially lasting longer than I did.”

The Replacement’s expression reached puppy-dog levels of sadness. Finally. A weak point, even if it wasn’t an expected one.

Jason placed a hand on the butt of one of his visible guns and started slowly approaching. “’Cause that wonderful hero you’re waxing poetic about _died_ , precisely because he was willing to risk his life for somebody he didn’t actually know.” The Replacement’s sadness turned to confusion, and Jason let out a laugh. “He didn’t tell you? Of course he didn’t tell you. How’d he spin it? Poor, sweet little Jason was saving orphaned puppies when he was tragically murdered? Or was I always too angry and reckless and went running off after the Joker without backup and got what I deserved?”

The Replacement took a step back and settled into a combat-ready stance as Jason got closer, automatically if his still stubbornly unafraid expression was anything to go by. “Of course not! He… never really talked about it. He only said the Joker did it. And judging by how he’d react whenever somebody tried attacking with a crowbar –“

Jason pulled the gun and pointed it right at his forehead without thinking. Considering the circumstances, he considered this a reasonable and mild reaction.

The Replacement didn’t have the same understanding of the context, and finally gained the expression of somebody being threatened as he pulled out a batarang. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight you, Ja – Phoenix.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because I sure as fuck want to fight you.” Jason took a deep breath and relaxed his arm, pulling the gun back. “You’ve got one sentence to convince me otherwise.”

The Replacement’s brow furrowed with thought in a way that reminded Jason viscerally of Bruce. Funny how kids could inherit stuff from their adoptive parents. Finally, he said, “I’m not the one you want to fight.”

Jason did his best vocal impression of a buzzer, and hoped the metallic filter of the helmet would make it sound better than it did to his own ears. “Wrong answer.” On a list of right answers, that was a serious competitor for dead last. He took aim again (not quite so precisely as before) and pulled the trigger.

The Replacement dodged, obviously. He was Robin. Dodging shitty shots like that was learned day one. He also had good aim with a batarang, hitting Jason in the patch of exposed skin between his glove and jacket. His hand spasmed and dropped the gun. His other hand grabbed it before it hit the ground and shoved it back in his holster. When it came down to it, he didn’t actually want to kill the Replacement, and if he forgot that in an adrenaline-fueled moment it would take longer for him to remember again than it would to aim somewhere vital and pull the trigger.

The Replacement didn’t press the advantage. He just stood there and said, “We don’t have to do this. We’re on the same side, Jason.”

Jason tutted and pulled out his kris. “No names in the field, Timmy.” The first swing was slow, and the Replacement dodged easily. The second was a bit faster, and he still dodged without much apparent effort.

“Fine, we’re on the same side, _Phoenix_ ,” he grunted, going for an armlock.

Jason slipped away and drove an elbow into his back, sending him stumbling. Jason decided to return the favor and stupidly talk instead of pressing the attack. “This isn’t Star Wars. There isn’t a good side and a bad side.”

“Yes, yes, the world is shades of gray,” the Replacement grumbled, waving a hand exasperatedly. “I’ve heard it already. I understand.”

“Clearly not, if you still think –“

He didn’t realize that the Replacement’s other hand had been digging around in his utility belt until he threw down a smoke bomb. Jason waved it out of his face and swore under his breath. By the time it dissipated enough for him to see, the Replacement was already through the door at the end of the hall. Jason swore again and made a mental note to telekinetically _keep_ the doors shut.

It didn’t take long to catch up. Jason’s legs were longer, and if the Replacement was anything like he’d been when he was Robin he was probably hiding an injury or two that should have him on bedrest. In hindsight, it was always a stupid move, and it was _definitely_ a stupid move now that someone else was doing it. At least he had proof that it was Batman’s influence’s fault, not his own.

Injured or not, the Replacement nearly swept his legs out from under him once he got close enough. Jason managed to jump over it and go for a punch. The Replacement redirected it – smart move, considering the strength difference between them. Skill over power, same as ever. For the Replacement’s sake, Jason hoped that not all of his training was the same as ever. It hadn’t done Jason much good against the Joker.

The thought had Jason hit the Replacement a lot harder and faster than he’d planned on. He felt and heard a rib crack. Jason let him get a good hit in in return. Fuck, that was gonna leave a nasty bruise. The Joker was managing to hurt him even in death. He gave that thought a double tap to the head and let himself fall into the rhythm of the fight. It was easy, like it always was with people trained by Batman or the League of Assassins.

The Replacement was… okay. He’d have no problem with normal thugs, and with a little luck and preparation he’d do fine against most villains. Against somebody with similar training, and a lot more of it? If Jason actually wanted to kill him, it would be over already. He’d been Robin for, what, two years? Three? Jason remembered being a lot better when he’d had that much training. What did Bruce see in him? What was so special? Why in God’s name was he letting him run around like this when it was just going to get him killed?

A fighting style that involved as much flipping around as theirs covered a lot of ground. Jason opened doors as needed to keep up the momentum, except for the one that opened to reveal a furious-looking girl in an outfit that reminded Jason of Deathstroke’s. He quickly closed it again and was too busy focusing on the fight to try and remember who she was. He focused so hard that he didn’t realize just how far they’d gone until the Replacement got lucky and he found himself looking around for some sort of terrain advantage or makeshift, non-lethal weapon.

The stone faces of dead Titans stared down at him, looking suitably heroic and impressive. Funny how much more heroic and impressive people seemed to get after they were dead. There were more statues than he remembered. Shit, Donna died? He’d actually liked her. She’d done such a good job at burying her resentment toward him that he could almost pretend she’d liked him, too.

For once, the Replacement actually took advantage of the distraction. Jason had to up his game a little, not only because the Replacement had given up on talking things out over tea, but because his subconscious kept whispering indistinctly in his ear that something was wrong. Time flowed differently in a fight, constantly switching between too slow or too fast seemingly at random, so he wasn’t sure how long it took for him to realize what it was. But he did realize, eventually. The realization had him freeze long enough for the Replacement to tackle him to the ground and lock his arms behind his back. He couldn’t bring himself to care, because –

“Where’s mine?” he asked.

The Replacement’s grip on him loosened. He slipped out of it and rose to his feet, looking over the statues again in case he’d just missed it.

“You… don’t have one,” said the Replacement.

Jason clenched his hands into fists and took a very deep, very calming breath. If he listened to his instincts and tried to hit the Replacement, he’d probably accidentally use telekinesis and cripple him at best. “Huh,” he said. His voice sounded very far away, even to himself. “Well. Makes sense, I guess. A few team-ups didn’t make me a Titan when I was alive. Why would they make me one once I was dead?”

The Replacement didn’t say anything, and he didn’t attack, either. As usual, the peace and quiet set off alarm bells. Jason turned back to look at him. He looked… guilty. Too guilty for that to be the entire truth.

“What?” Jason demanded. He followed the Replacement’s gaze to a statue of a girl he didn’t recognize. When it clicked, it sent bile up his throat and a sour taste on his tongue. “Ah. So, it’s just me, then.” It figured. It fucking figured. If there was one thing he’d learned since coming back ‘home’, it was that he always seemed to be the exception. Always the problem. Always the one everyone just wanted to forget and move on from.

“Batman has a memorial in the cave,” the Replacement tried to assure him, but something was still off about the way he said it. Still guilty. Still screaming that he knew Jason wouldn’t be happy about the whole truth.

In hindsight, Jason would regret reading his mind. In the moment, he was too angry and upset and filled with a perverse desire to hurt himself to think clearly. He dove into the Replacement’s thoughts too quickly for him to try and defend himself or change what he was thinking. He was envisioning the memorial with crystal clarity.

_A Good Soldier._

The first thing he became aware of once he was back in his own mind was the laughter ripping its way out of his throat. It was joke. His life was one great, long, cosmic joke that he was never going to get. The fuck kind of person gives their son an epitaph like that? Adopted or not, that was just… what the fuck? That kind of person wasn’t the kind of person he saw in Bruce’s mind. Or, at least, what he remembered seeing in Bruce’s mind. Was he in denial? Was he so desperate for… for… _something_ that he’d warped his own memories beyond recognition? Had that entire night been a bad dream? Was the Joker still alive?

He didn’t realize how white and loud everything had gotten until he heard someone screaming his name. He willed it all back down and blinked until he could see and hear properly again. It must have shown, whether in his expression or in the fact that nothing was on fire or getting telekinetically smashed anymore, because the Replacement stopped yelling.

Instead, he said, “Are you okay?”

The gentleness in his voice stomped down hard on every last one of Jason’s nerves. “Shut up,” he snarled.

Like a genie, his powers granted his wish in the worst way possible. Everything flared again, and the Replacement was on the ground, clutching at his throat and trying in vain to breathe. Jason stumbled back and squeezed his eyes shut, cradling his face in his hands as best he could with the helmet in the way. No matter how many times he reminded himself that the Replacement didn’t deserve to die for making an inadvertently upsetting remark, and no matter how many deep breaths he took, it didn’t make the sound of the Replacement’s breathing any less choked, rattling, gasping, and awful. All it did was add the sound of cracking and grinding stone.

He couldn’t fix this. Nobody ever taught him how to fix things. Batman and Talia and Gotham itself only ever taught him how to break things. Fixing things was for other people. People that couldn’t get close enough to help with Jason having yet another meltdown that was going to become a lot more literal real damn quick if he didn’t _get out._

He straightened his back and opened his eyes. Nothing had changed, except for the broken stone littering the floor and the red of the Replacement’s face becoming tinged with blue. If he left right at that moment, like his instincts were screaming at him to do, the interaction would feel… incomplete. There’d be a constant thorn in his side telling him to go back and end things properly.

So, he did what he usually did in times of stress and uncertainty. “Well, it’s been fun,” he said with false cheer that would be transparent to anyone not currently choking to death. “But let’s call it a night now, shall we? If you want to do this again, feel free to come and find me. If not… stay away.”

There. That was a dramatic enough exit line. Now he just had to follow through with the actual exit. He raised his eyes to look at the wall and walked toward it. It crumbled to pieces as he approached, leaving a nice Jason-sized hole to walk through without breaking stride. He had to go through a couple walls before he got to the outside. Once he did, he found himself looking down at a fall that, while _probably_ not deadly, would not be particularly pleasant. Time to stretch his wings a little, so to speak. And while he was at it, why stop at just breaking the fall? He couldn’t stay in San Francisco anymore, and everything he needed he had on him, so might as well see how far he could go without fainting and going into space again.

He closed his eyes, stepped off the ledge, and imagined himself flying off into the night sky. He was sorely tempted to take his helmet off so he could enjoy the wind in his hair. He decided against it in case something happened and he dropped it. Getting it back telekinetically last time knocked him out for… fuck, he still wasn’t sure how long. Longer than he’d like, definitely. He’d lost more than enough of his life already. The helmet stayed on.

Eventually, he realized that flying with his eyes closed, while helpful in avoiding panic, wasn’t very good for actually knowing where he was going. He didn’t have any destination in mind, so he couldn’t count on his powers to take him there. Hell, considering how his powers seemed to work, he’d probably wind up in Gotham again.

He opened his eyes and found his vision obscured by fire. He shut them again and drove right past panic into good ol’ calm logic. He wasn’t burning. He couldn’t even feel the fire. He could still feel all his clothes, so they weren’t burning, either. With all this evidence, he could safely ignore logic saying none of that should be possible. He opened his eyes again and actually looked around. It could just be a trick of the light or willful thinking or whatever, but he could swear the flames coming off him seemed to stretch out into wings.

It… it was just his powers being weird again. Yeah. They were being weird and tapping into his subconscious. He was starting to think of himself as Phoenix, so his powers were expressing that imagery. The only other explanation was that the powers were always going to express themselves as a phoenix, and they’d nudged his brain into choosing the name himself. That wasn’t a good explanation. That was a terrible, awful explanation that he was going to do his very best to throw down the mental garbage disposal.

He turned his gaze downward. San Francisco was long gone, replaced with mountains covered in green forest and crisscrossed with grey roads. It finally hit him that he had literally no idea where to go. If he had to be confused, he’d rather do it with minimal chance of falling to his death, so he angled down toward what looked like an empty clearing. Once he got closer to the canopy, he willed the flames to go out. To his surprise, they obeyed the command and vanished.

He hit the ground harder than he meant to, stumbling and falling to his knees hard enough to make him wince. He didn’t bother trying to stand up again. Now that his body thought it was safe, it was making all its pain and complaints known. He shifted into a more comfortable position and tried to think everything over.

He got what he wanted, right? He saw what the Replacement could do, found him wanting, and put him out of commission long enough to do some serious rethinking of his life choices. The Titans would… Fuck, the Titans were probably going to be pissed. He had to stop thinking like a crime boss. Beating up a member of a gang might get the others to leave you alone, but beating up a member of a superhero team would just have the others out for blood. Until a greater and/or closer threat popped up, which shouldn’t take too long. It would even less time if he kept on the move.

Okay. That was a plan. Stay on the move. Wander around the country aimlessly, doing the vigilante thing. He could work with that. He’d still be helping people.

With that out of the way, all he had to think about (besides all the shit he was _not_ going to think about) was the fire thing. Even by mysterious power standards, that was a little weird. He raised a hand and half-heartedly imagined a fireball in the palm of his hand.

He did a quadruple take to make sure it was real when it actually happened. He willed it out, then back on, out, on, out, on, until he was satisfied that it wasn’t just a bizarre fluke. He could finally control his pyrokinesis. He scrambled through his memories trying to figure out when that happened. There’d been that thing with Mr. Freeze, but he’d spent hours trying to light a cigarette in the following days and got nothing out of it except the taste stuck on his tongue. After that, there was… there was the Joker. Was that it? Had finally killing him unlocked his true potential or something?

He didn’t know, and the more he thought about it the more he didn’t want to care. He could set things on fire with his mind, now. Cool. That was all there had to be to it, if he let it be. 

He got to his feet, head full of plans and logistics and _not_ guilt and anger and all that bullshit, and took off again.


	11. Road Trip

Jason quickly fell into a new routine. Once he arrived in a town/city, he’d check the news, ask around, and if all else failed read some minds in order to see which locals needed to die. The towns where nobody did were few and far between enough to be more anomaly than anecdote. Once that was done, he went to work. When they were all dead, or – more often – his actions started getting reported on and drawing attention, he went to the highway and hitchhiked his way to the next one. Hitchhiking was a great way to travel when you had both the desire and ability to kill the kinds of people that made it so dangerous. He was honestly surprised by how many drivers _didn’t_ try to kill or rob or assault him.

Time, memories, names, places, faces, scenery… Everything became a blur. Maybe that was what he needed? His own fucked up brand of boring normality? He _was_ helping people, and he didn’t lose control of his powers. Not even when he read the minds of the worst small-town America had to offer. Having the twisted, screaming abyss of the Joker’s mind branded into his memory in white-hot irons made him nice and numb. He was helping people, he was in control, and nobody had come after him. This… this was good. As good as Jason was ever going to get, probably.

Nothing particularly memorable happened until he hit Kansas. Or was it Arkansas? Or was it Kansas City? Fuck if he knew. All he knew was that that was the third payphone now that started ringing the second he got close. Jason had seen enough action movies (and lived through enough of their clichés) to know where this was going. With a heavy sigh and a look around to make sure there weren’t any innocent civilians around to get caught in the crossfire (he knew there wouldn’t be, he’d chosen this street because he wanted a quiet walk to clear his head, which clearly wasn’t going to happen), he went to the phone and picked it up.

He gave the caller a moment to say whatever smart comment they had planned. They wasted it with silence, so he had to fill in for them. “You do know I have a cell phone, right?”

A familiar laugh came over the line. “I thought you’d appreciate the dramatics.”

Jason swallowed and cleared his throat to get rid of the sudden dryness in his mouth and lump in his throat. “Hey, Babs. Been a while.”

“You do know I’ve got a codename, right?” Barbara echoed teasingly.

“No, actually, I don’t,” he replied. She wasn’t Batgirl again, right? No, Batgirl was still Cassandra. Or was she? “I haven’t exactly been in the loop.”

“It’s Oracle now.”

Jason racked his brain trying to remember hearing about someone with that codename. “Yup, never heard of you. No offense.”

“None taken. It means I’m doing my job right. I work behind the scenes, now. Surveillance, data collection, mission control, that kind of thing.”

Jason nodded, useless as the gesture was over a phone. That sounded like just the sort of thing Babs would be good at and find fulfilling. “You always did like bossing me around.”

“And you always…” Her voice trailed off unhappily.

“What’s up?” Jason asked, free hand automatically going for his gun, as if he could actually do something to help if Babs was in trouble even though she was probably several states away. Maybe if he flew there, he could –

“ _You_ , Jason.” Ah. She wasn’t in trouble. She’d just been reminded that she had to lecture him like the old days. “Why did you attack Tim?”

Jason sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “I wanted to see what he could do.”

Maybe it was his telepathy, but he swore he could feel her anger over the line. “And that had to include seeing if he could survive a crushed windpipe? I saw the reports. It was a close thing.”

Jason ignored the wave of guilt. “That was an accident,” he said. He couldn’t quite keep his words clear of sheepishness.

“What, were you doing a Darth Vader impression and got carried away?” Barbara snapped.

“I just wanted him to shut up, and I… I kind of lost control.” If his voice got any more sheepish, he was going to start sprouting wool. It all sounded so much better and justified in his head. Barbara was too well-adjusted to consider ‘he was being too nice and it made me mad enough to nearly kill him’ a good excuse.

“You _kind of_ lost control,” she repeated just short of mockingly.

“If I’d _fully_ lost control, he’d be dead,” Jason said. _Along with probably everyone else in the area except for me._ He wasn’t going to say that part out loud. Babs would probably send the entire Justice League to lock him up and try to help him if he did, and that was a recipe for full control loss and death.

The line went quiet, except for the faint clacking of a keyboard. Was she looking up something, or was she writing a profile for him? Or did she already have one? He wouldn’t be surprised. She’d escaped the worst of the trademark Bat habits, thanks to having a stable, supportive father figure already in her life, but having a plan to neutralize everyone you encountered was pretty much unavoidable.

When she spoke again, her voice was a lot calmer. “How often would you say you lose control?”

Jason weighed his words carefully. He didn’t want to completely lie to her, but he’d also like to avoid getting hunted down. “It hasn’t happened since then.” He pulled out his phone and checked the date. Holy shit, had it really been three months? That was a new record. It was also the longest time he’d managed to go without encountering anything Gotham-related besides news articles he skimmed through to make sure nobody had gotten themselves killed. He knew that correlation doesn’t equal causation, but gee, that was one hell of a correlation.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Jason let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-growl. “It only happens when I get really upset. How often _that_ happens depends on how much time I spend interacting with you people.”

“And with that in mind, you actively sought out Robin?”

Man, it really was like the old days, because Babs was making him feel stupid and reckless and not as wonderful as Dick Grayson. That last part wasn’t really applicable now, but it had been so often in the past that he could see the subtext, even if it was just his imagination. “I didn’t think he’d try to talk about feelings and shit! I figured I’d go in, beat him up a bit, and make sure the Titans left me alone.”

Barbara sighed in a way so guilt-inducing she must have learned it from Alfred. “Beating up their members is not a good way to get superhero teams to leave you alone, Jason. You’ve been –“

“Dealing with gangs too much, I know.” Jason ran a hand down his face. “Did you call just to lecture me?”

“Not entirely. I…” Another sigh. Quieter and to herself more than him. “You really know how to make a mess of things, don’t you?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

“Not when you won’t let anyone clean it up.” Jason got the distinct impression she was massaging her temples to alleviate the headache he was giving her. “I don’t know how to help you, Jason, and yes, you do need help. Either you need someone like Martian Manhunter to help you control your powers, or you need someone like a therapist to help you control your emotions.”

Jason had a crystal-clear image of how either one of those would end: In flames. “Or, how about you all just leave me alone? It’s working fine so far.”

“That’s not going to be an option for long. There are only so many arguments Alfred can make to Batman for respecting your wishes, and your stunt in San Francisco eliminated a whole lot of them. Unless you give me something _really_ convincing to pass along to him, he’s going to track you down and try to bring you home.”

Well, that explained why the Bat hadn’t already shown up. Jason would have to remember to get Alfred something nice for his birthday. He’d already missed out on Christmas. “How about you remind him that I nearly burnt down Gotham the last time he tried having a heart-to-heart?”

“Is that how it happened? B’s report tells a very different story.”

God damn B and his obsession with reports. “You expect the person writing the report to paint themselves in an unflattering light?”

“Usually, no. But with B? The man that still blames himself for not somehow overpowering a grown man with a gun when he was an untrained eight-year-old?”

“You mean the man that deluded himself into thinking I was ‘a good soldier’?”

He could practically hear Barbara’s wince. “Yeah, that was… I prefer to think of that as a memorial to Robin. The tombstone’s got a nicer epitaph.”

It was a very good thing that Barbara was too far away for him to read her mind, because he might not have overcome the urge to do it, and if the epitaph was anything less than perfect he might have had another meltdown.

Even in his silence, Babs could tell how unhappy he was with the subject and decided to change it. “How would you describe what happened that night, then?”

Jason drummed his fingers on the phone in thought. “I killed the Joker and lost control. Batman tried talking me down, but then Blüdhaven got bombed or nuked or whatever and I lost control even more and ended up…” Shit, should he bring up the whole space thing?

“Ended up where?” Babs prompted.

“It doesn’t matter,” he decided.

“Are you sure? Because I am genuinely curious how you managed to completely vanish like that. You were still on the planet, right?” she asked jokingly.

“Yeah, of course,” Jason lied. “Where else would I be?”

“Jason,” said Barbara, like they were Batgirl and Robin again and he was lying about doing his homework or getting a wound looked at. “Where did you go?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jason repeated. “Don’t worry about it. I just… needed some space.”

“If that is a pun, I swear to –“ She cut herself off. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll respect your decision. If you refuse to let anyone help you, that’s your decision, too. You’re an adult, technically. All I’m going to do is suggest, as someone who cares about you, that you find someone you _can_ talk to and ask for help. I understand if it’s not one of us. Just… don’t feel like you have to go through whatever you’re going through alone, okay?”

Jason stared numbly at his distorted reflection in the payphone’s casing. He knew that she meant well, and he’d given her practically nothing to work with and draw conclusions from. That didn’t stop the idea of letting someone in that close make something in his chest twist and clench with fear so hard he could barely breathe. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Thank you. I… honestly thought you would’ve hung up by now, and I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“Okay.” He hung up, because that conversation had gone far too smoothly and he needed to maintain his reputation.

* * *

He _did_ try to keep an open mind on the whole ‘finding someone’ thing. He talked to people a little more, at least. Tried to get to know them beyond getting the information he needed to find his next target. It didn’t go particularly well. Anybody whose mind he’d read was a non-starter, because it was impossible to make small talk with somebody you knew got off to feet or worse. And even when he was able to talk to someone with a straight face, it was kind of hard to connect to people when you were as fucked up as he was. How was he supposed to empathize with people his age when most of them were worried about college and finding work and he was worried about accidentally killing everyone in a mile radius whenever he stubbed his toe?

Suffering wasn’t a contest. He knew that. But if it was one, he’d be a hell of a contender.

One side-effect of trying to find a friend/confidant/girlfriend/boyfriend/whatever was that he was lingering in places longer than before. In spite of what cowboy movies had told him, it wasn’t easy for a mysterious stranger with a gun at his hip and a troubled past to swoop into a town, save it from trouble, and fall in love within the span of a few weeks. Saving it from trouble was easy, sure, but connecting with someone? Not as much.

It wasn’t long enough to find someone, but it turned out to be long enough for someone to find him.

Talia had the decency to leave a note in his motel room rather than just ambushing him, at least. Though that might have been more self-preservation than politeness. He considered ignoring it. After all, this might all be an elaborate ploy to drag him back to Ra’s and have him try to brainwash him or something. If it wasn’t, then Talia might accept that he didn’t want to see her and leave him alone. Both situations hinged on a very unstable _might_.

At worst, he’d get a chance to take out Ra’s. At best, he’d… get to ask Talia for advice? Logically speaking, that was a terrible idea. Illogically speaking, his complete and utter failure at connecting with anybody better at giving advice was getting to him a little. At least with Talia he didn’t have to… No, he’d still have to pretend a little. He already regretted letting the whole space thing slip to Babs, and he actually trusted her.

Good idea or not, she was already at the meeting place when Jason grappled there that night, standing on the edge of the roof, staring up at the moon, weapons hanging at her sides but posture perfectly relaxed.

“Were you followed?” she asked.

“Not that I noticed,” he replied.

She turned to look at him, eyes narrowed disapprovingly. “Did you properly check?”

“Do it yourself.”

“You know what I mean.”

Great. Already off to a great start. “I’ve already spent far too much time listening to little Jimmy two blocks down fantasize about Power Girl. I’d rather just not say anything I don’t want anyone else hearing.”

“Very well.” Talia pulled a small metal device out of her pocket and pressed a button. “If anybody is listening, they can’t record anything or communicate with their superiors. I hope you weren’t too attached to your phone.”

“Wha –“ Jason pulled the phone out, and yup, dead as a doornail. “Fuck you.”

“Such is the price of discretion. You seem to have forgotten quite a bit about that.”

Jason glared at her. Even with the helmet, she’d be able to read it through his body language. “Seriously. Fuck you. I was saving up for a Switch. Now I gotta use the money on another phone."

For a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, anger flashed across Talia’s face. “Do you truly think a phone is the greatest of your concerns right now?”

Jason crossed his arms across his chest. “What _should_ be the greatest of my concerns, then, o fount of knowledge and wisdom?”

Talia took a deep breath and looked back up at the moon. “You have made more enemies than you know. Black Mask was not working alone.”

“Yeah, I figured that when I got attacked by a fucking were-hyena and Nazi.”

“Hyena and Captain Nazi were not his only allies, and they are far from his most dangerous. What do you know of the Society?”

“Well, from the name alone I can tell they were founded by a pretentious asshole.” Talia’s look of annoyance was enough to make even him feel a little chagrined. “I haven’t been watching the news much, okay? I’m sure the Justice League can handle it.”

Talia looked downright insulted. Too insulted. “I would not be so sure. The Society is an organization bound by mutual hatred of the Justice League and their associates. As you can imagine, it is quite large, and intentionally or not, you are counted amongst those associates.”

“Because you told them?” Jason asked.

The brief flash of surprise on Talia’s face was quickly replaced by an expression that said she was now _really_ insulted. “All I told them was that you are a former student of mine and a vague overview of what I know of your powers. I also advised them to leave you be. Deathstroke disagreed.”

Deathstroke, huh? Back in his Robin days, he had firmly been on the list of villains he should run away from. After seeing him in action for the first time, he’d been more than happy to. Now? Unless he’d gotten faster than the speed of thought and stronger than an angry Gorilla Grodd while Jason was dead… “Well then, he’s welcome to come and take it up with me. I could use a workout.”

“Do not underestimate him. I would not be surprised if he managed to find a way to disable your powers, and even _if_ you were maintaining a proper training regimen your odds of victory would be scarce.”

“I think they’d be a bit higher than that,” Jason claimed, but he knew she had a point. Deathstroke was nearly as stubborn as Batman. If Jason defeated him, he’d just keep coming back with more and more surprises to throw at him. Unless Jason just killed him. Maybe a look at his mind would prove him wrong, but judging from everything he knew about him there was probably _some_ good in there. _Some_ possibility of redemption, or at least making the world a little bit better. And there was a very good chance that he would eventually find some way to neutralize Jason’s powers. On the plus side, if that happened, he could at least ask how he did it and narrow down the possibilities for how he got them in the first place.

Talia sighed. “Well, they are certainly better than the odds of you seeing sense. If you joined the Society, I promise you would be under my command and I would not ask you to do anything you are unwilling to.”

Jason rolled his eyes.

Talia shrugged. “I can tell them I tried, at least. If you continue along this path of… whatever it is you think you’re doing, I recommend you pick up the pace. If you continue to linger, soon enough those who do not know you as well as I will be able to visit you as well.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

“That is all I expected of you.”

Jason waited for her to make a dramatic exit. He even turned his back on her for a moment to give her a chance to be gone when he turned around. She didn’t. She just kept standing there, staring up at the moon. “Did you really come here just for that?”

Talia closed her eyes and drummed her fingers against her leg. “How did Batman react when you returned?”

Jason was glad for the helmet, because his jaw must have been agape for a solid ten second. “Why?”

“Is it such an odd thing to be curious about?” Talia asked tetchily.

All right. Clearly, there was something else on Talia’s mind, and this was some weird segue/metaphor/whatever. Might as well humor her. “I think he thought I was possessed. Hell, he probably still thinks it. Easier than accepting I’m not his…” Nope, he was _not_ bringing up the good soldier thing again.

Talia picked up the meaning, anyway, and she didn’t seem happy about it. “He wasn’t happy to see you?”

“He was… a lot of things.” Happy, self-loathing, grief-stricken, angry, scared… pretty much every emotion imaginable. “The whole killing thing kinda put a damper on it.”

Talia wasn’t happy with that answer, either. “Did he force you out of Gotham, or did you leave of your own accord?”

“I… left.” It was the truth, technically. She didn’t look convinced, so he had to elaborate. “After I killed the Joker, I just… needed some space.”

Talia smiled proudly. Jason would never admit how happy the sight made him. “As I thought. That madman blighted this Earth for far too long. I am glad you were the one to claim vengeance against him.” Her expression faded back to inscrutability. “I assume my beloved was not so pleased. Is that why you did not return to Gotham?”

“What do you want, Talia?” Jason snapped. “Since when have you given a shit about my feelings, unless it affects you?”

“I – Fine.” Her expression hardened in a way he’d rarely seen targeted at him. “I want to know if your estrangement from Batman is due to his poor actions as a father, or your own instability and projection of your self-loathing. Thank you for showing it to be the latter.”

Jason’s throat was too tight to speak, at first, which was good, because anything that came out would just be incoherent swearing. What the fuck? Why would she – Why was he surprised? He always knew she was a heartless manipulator. He’d pushed too hard, and the façade finally crumbled. Whatever weird maternal affection she had for him must have died after he left. She’d probably killed it herself.

Finally, when the tightness eased and Talia pulled the mask back on to show guilt, he said, “Well. Glad to illuminate things for you. Thanks for the heads-up. See you next time you feel like asking weird, invasive questions.” He turned and walked away.

“Jason, I apologize. I worded that poorly.” The words started coming faster when Jason didn’t stop. “All I meant was that you find it difficult to believe people care about you, which is perfectly understandable given your background, but –“

Jason grappled away before she could finish whatever half-assed excuse she was trying for. Actual apologies didn’t use the word ‘but’.

He grabbed his things from his motel room and immediately set out for the next stop on his little cross-country road-trip. No need to linger anymore. He didn’t want to run into Deathstroke, or worse, any Bats. And Talia had just given him an excellent, if unintentional, lesson on why connecting with people was stupid and overrated and never a good idea.

Or maybe it was just never a good idea for him.

Or maybe Talia had a point about the self-loathing thing. Whatever. Everybody hated themselves at least a little. Everybody who wasn’t a narcissist and/or complete asshole, anyway. He’d read more than enough minds to confirm it. And healthy or not, not letting people get close and pushing away anyone foolish enough to try had worked pretty well for him in the past. Trusting and loving people had him running himself ragged trying to take care of Catherine, and then constantly hurt as Robin, and then dead when he tried to protect Sheila, and then doing all sorts of awful shit for Talia’s sake, and then hurting even more people in a stupid bid for Bruce’s love.

So, yeah. Love definitely sucked and wasn’t worth it and he was better off without it. If only his stupid, traitorous tear ducts would understand that and stop crying every time he thought about it.


	12. Brothers in Covenant

Jason became very thankful for pyrokinetic side-effects as spring gave way to summer. Leather jackets and body armor weren’t exactly breathable. If he’d had a normal, changeable body temperature, the sweat and heatstroke would be a far greater threat than any of the low-level criminals and technically law-abiding assholes he was dealing with.

At certain times, he couldn’t help but remember how Batman used to grumble and end every patrol soaked in sweat when heatwaves hit, no matter how many adjustments he made to the suit. There was only so much you could do with bulky, black body armor covering every inch except the lower half of the face. Had he finally figured it out in the last few years? Or had the wonderful, brilliant Replacement done it?

Then Jason would get mad, try to comfort himself by imagining Batman suffering in the grueling heat while Jason comfortably wore as many layers as he wanted, and shove it to the back of his mind until it sprang back up like a jack-in-the-box.

Maybe his thoughts kept going back to Gotham because he was getting physically closer to it. His journey across the US had been a meandering zig-zag, but the general direction was always east. He wanted to believe it was just a coincidence. Hitchhiking didn’t exactly give a lot of control over your path. It made sense that the further north or south you got, the more traffic you’d find going the other way to stay in the country. He didn’t want to believe that he was subconsciously hitchhiking on roads with lots of traffic heading in the direction of Gotham, or subconsciously using his powers to _make_ the traffic go that way.

Whatever the reason, he eventually hit the tri-state area, and once he got there, changing direction felt like giving up. How many people could say they’d gone from sea to shining sea without a plane? Probably a lot, actually, but that just made giving up now even more undesirable. If all those people did it, he could do it, too. He’d just make sure to steer clear of New Jersey. New York was cool in his memories. It probably had lots of work for him, too.

The city, like everything else from before his death, was smaller than he remembered. He also got the weird feeling in his gut of something being missing every time his eyes drifted over the space in the skyline the old Titans Tower was. On the plus side, it meant fewer superheroes to deal with. So long as he didn’t start attacking people in the middle of Times Square or burn anything important down, he should be able to have a nice visit. Maybe go for a swim and see if the dolphins of the Atlantic were as petty as the ones in the Pacific.

So, obviously, the first morning he spent there he grabbed a newspaper to see who to kill only to find one Nightwing’s stupidly perfect face grinning up at him. Because the universe hated Jason with a passion.

It made sense, and was something he really should’ve seen coming. Blüdhaven was well and truly fucked, and it would take more than five years for Dick and Bruce’s relationship to reach the point that Dick would willingly live in Gotham full-time. New York was familiar enough for him not to feel lost, but new enough for a fresh start, or at least an attempt at one.

Jason scoured the newspaper for more information, and when all he found was the journalist’s poorly-disguised crush on Nightwing, he scoured the internet. Again, ninety percent of it was just people thirsting over his foster brother, which felt really weird to read. The only useful thing he was able to glean was that he didn’t seem to have a set patrol route. He showed up when and where he thought he was most needed. As somebody who wanted to avoid him at all costs, Jason thought this was terribly inconsiderate of him.

Staying out of Nightwing’s territory wasn’t an option, because he’d decided that all of New York City was his territory. Jason could, theoretically, spend his time in New York as Jason Peters or one of his other fake identities rather than as Phoenix. He’d be gone long before Dick even knew he’d been there, so long as they didn’t bump into each other on the street, which was so unlikely that… Quite frankly, it was so unlikely that it was almost guaranteed to happen, because, again, the universe hated him.

Avoiding him wasn’t an option, either, then. There was always the aggressive approach, but even if Jason could ignore the bile rising in his throat at the thought of accidentally hurting Dick like he had the Replacement, Dick was probably the most beloved person in the entire superhero community. Harming a hair on his head would put him in the crosshairs of practically every hero (and probably some villains) on the planet.

Avoiding and attacking weren’t options, and he wasn’t about to admit defeat and flee, which left… ugh. God damn it.

Finding Dick’s phone number was worryingly easy. You’d think a police officer that put a lot of vengeful people away would be a bit more careful about that. But if Dick were a reasonable person, he would have… well… not done practically everything he’d ever done in his life. Jason just had to hope he’d be reasonable about this.

He spent a lot longer than strictly necessary composing the text message. Eventually, he settled on, _Hey, it’s Jason. I’m in New York. I won’t bother you as long as you don’t bother me. Laters._ Simple. To the point. Practically screamed ‘leave me the fuck alone’. He hit send and immediately set out to find some good ol’ New York pizza so he wouldn’t be checking for a response every five seconds.

He barely got out the door of the motel before his phone rang. He checked, confirmed it was Dick, and hit decline. He barely got into a taxi before the phone rang again. Still Dick. Still declined. He barely finished telling the driver where he wanted to go before he got a notification. Dick had texted him. _Answer your phone._ Jason ignored it. When Dick called _again_ , he just put his phone on airplane mode and spent the rest of the ride in peace.

The pizza was probably fifty percent grease and took a year off his lifespan, but it was delicious. He ignored the sound of the door opening in favor of savoring the last vestiges of flavor on his tongue before he started on the second piece. A stupid move, he realized when Dick plopped himself down in the chair opposite him and fixed him with an uncanny impression of Alfred’s disapproving glare.

Jason sighed. “Could you at least wait for me to finish eating before you start yelling at me and I start stabbing at you?”

The glare faltered and gave way to a look far too complicated for Jason to decipher in the short time he had before the glare returned. “Fine.”

As Jason ate, Dick didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The glare and crossed arms and disapproving frown got the message across loud and clear. He could practically taste his anger, which kind of ruined the fine dining experience. It was something of a relief to finally finish and rise to his feet.

“You wanna do this here, or scream and stab in a dirty alley like civilized men?” he asked.

Dick’s eyes flitted around the room, taking in all the witnesses and possible casualties. “Alley.”

They found one pretty quick. As soon as they’d done so and situated themselves in a shadowy spot, Jason pulled out his kris and idly twirled it between his fingers. “All right. You’re the home team, so you get to go first.”

Dick didn’t immediately start yelling, but the tension in his posture said it was a close thing. “What are you doing here?”

Jason shrugged. “Sightseeing.”

“Sightseeing,” Dick repeated flatly.

“Sightseeing with a sprinkling of vigilantism,” Jason amended.

“Vigilantism, or murder?”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.”

Dick closed his eyes. His shoulders rose and fell with several deep, calming breaths. They didn’t seem to be working.

“I wouldn’t have come if I knew you were here,” Jason said. It was _probably_ the truth. The thought of Dick being here had never occurred to him before he saw that newspaper, and any thoughts he tried to have retroactively would be biased by how terribly this reunion was already going.

“Did you know Tim was in San Francisco before you went there?” Dick still wasn’t yelling. Yelling wouldn’t have been able to convey so much venom.

“I didn’t even know it was San Francisco before I got there.” Jason metaphorically (and almost literally) bit his tongue. Damn it, he had to stop saying shit like that. The bats would go even more out of their minds with wild theories and assumptions unless he gave them the full story, and no way in hell was he doing that.

Dick was clearly a little surprised by that little fact, but he got over it quickly. “That wasn’t the point of the question.”

Right. The point of it was precious, wonderful little Timmy. “Since when have you cared about your replacements?”

Dick actually _flinched_ at that, anger giving way to… sadness? Regret? “You weren’t my replacement, Jason.” Something like realization dawned in his eyes. “And Tim isn’t yours.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Sure. Bruce just so happened to pick up two other kids with black hair and blue eyes and daddy issues.”

“If your problem’s with Bruce, why take it out on Tim?”

 _Why did you take it out on me?_ The question made it to the tip of Jason’s tongue before he stopped it. He wasn’t here to sling guilt, no matter how tempting the idea was. “I just wanted to see what he could do. _Maybe_ put him on bedrest for a while to give him time to rethink his life choices before they become his death choices.”

Dick flinched again. Looks like Jason _was_ slinging guilt, and it felt great. “You did a lot more than that.”

“Look, I already had this talk with Babs, just ask her,” Jason snapped.

“I want to hear it from you.”

Jason realized he’d stopped twirling the kris a while ago, and right now his grip on the pommel was becoming painfully tight. “Fine. I’m an unstable danger to everyone around me who can’t control my powers. Is that what you want to hear?”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. Of course that’s not what I want to hear. Why do you have to be so…” He trailed off with a vaguely guilty look.

“Go on,” said Jason, adjusting his grip on the kris. “Finish the sentence.”

“So much of a smartass,” said Dick, after a pause too long for that to have been how the sentence was originally going to end.

Genuine or not, the sentiment had Jason’s hackles go down a little. “Batman needed a counterpoint, and eventually my personality got stuck like this.”

The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of Dick’s mouth. “Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah. Without B, you would’ve grown up into a real asshole. Oh, wait.”

What little levity Dick had faded quickly. “You know, after everything you’ve done, I should be trying to arrest you.”

“Emphasis on _try_.”

“I know. I’ve seen the footage. That kind of power needs control. Training. You –“

“I’ve already got training,” Jason interrupted. “And I have loads of control when I’m not getting sucker-punched by how little people cared about me dying.” He clenched his jaw shut before any more stupid, maudlin whining slipped out.

Dick probably would have looked less hurt if Jason just stabbed him. “Is that really what you think?”

Jason rolled the kris’ hilt between his fingers, using the sensation to ground himself. “No.” For approximately the six millionth time, he remembered what he’d seen of Bruce’s memories. Even if it was embellished for Jason’s sake, there had to be _something_ there to embellish. “But that’s only because I can literally read minds. There isn’t exactly a lot of evidence.”

“We –“ Dick cut himself off. “If I try to explain, are you going to stab me?”

“Probably.”

“All right.” Dick looked up at the sky. Maybe for answers, maybe just for an excuse not to have to look at Jason. When he looked back down, his expression was one of steely resolve. “I’ll let you sightsee on one condition: No killing.”

“Seriously?” Jason groaned.

“This is my city, so I get to make the rules.”

“I don’t think the city would agree.”

Dick pulled out his phone as threateningly as he would a weapon. “I’ve got B on speed dial. No killing means no calling.”

There were few things worse than not being able to kill, and B coming to visit was one of them. “Fine. I’ll just make sure they _wish_ I’d killed them.”

“That’s fine.”

Jason shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve got some weird moral boundaries.”

Dick shrugged. “Comes with the job.”

Jason sheathed the kris. He wasn’t sure if his surprise at not having to use it was pleasant or not. “Great. Deal. See you later.” He made to move past him and out of the alley.

“Wait,” said Dick.

Jason did so, though not without gripping one of his guns and only in silence for a moment to see if Dick was going to continue the train of thought. “What?” he asked when he didn’t.

Dick made a weird hand movement as if he’d tried reaching out to grab Jason’s arm, only to abort it midway and pretend he was just brushing his hair away from his eyes. “I’m glad you’re alive. For what it’s worth.”

 _That’s not much._ The words made it to the tip of Jason’s tongue before they died. It was a lie. A bare-faced lie with not a grain of truth to it. Fuck. He just shrugged, instead.

“And try not to change numbers, okay?” Dick continued. “As long as you’re here, I might need to call you in for backup.”

_Or you might need to call me for backup, and I don’t want to assume it’s a telemarketer and ignore it._

Jason didn’t acknowledge the unspoken words and gave a noncommittal grunt before walking away.

He went straight back to his motel to grab his equipment and go on patrol. That meeting had gone both far better and far worse than he’d expected, and he needed to take it out on somebody.

* * *

He went three glorious, blissful days without seeing hide nor hair of Dick Grayson, apart from one news report on a gunrunning operation Nightwing had shut down. He was surprised to see so little reporting on him, honestly, until he looked it up and realized everyone was distracted by notorious criminal Phoenix running around their city causing havoc. Funny how Nightwing’s article triumphantly declared no fatalities, while Phoenix’s conveniently failed to mention the same. Moral ambiguity didn’t sell, he supposed. People wanted dashing heroes and despicable villains, not anything in between.

Amusing as it was, it also meant that Batman definitely knew where he was. He’d just have to hope that Alfred and Babs and Dick and anyone else with sense would be able to convince him not to hop on the next plane to New York to try and fail to help him. If those hopes were futile, as they often were, well… He was running out of stuff to do in the city anyway. He’d be leaving soon enough.

Before he did, he had a few things to finish up. At the top of the list was taking down a drug ring targeting kids. The idea of having to leave them alive rankled, but he’d make do. He expected to have to do a lot of snooping, and a few painful interrogations, to get an in. Instead, Phoenix received an invitation to one of their meetings, courtesy of a child that was clearly expecting to be one of the messengers that got shot. He kept an eye on her until she got home (or at least where she was currently staying) without incident, and started hatching a plan.

It was relatively simple. Go in, pretend to still be the crime kingpin they thought he was, see what he was dealing with, pretend the alarm he’d set on his phone was an important call and excuse himself, sneak back in, and take them down. Easy.

So obviously he had to arrive at the meeting place only to find Nightwing perched on a nearby rooftop. With a sigh and a whispered curse, Jason doubled back and grappled up to his hiding spot. Nightwing spun around and threw a batarang (or was it birdarang?) at him as soon as he landed. It was a clumsy throw – he’d probably realized it was Jason as it was leaving his hand – and Jason caught it easily.

“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t following you?” Dick asked, still taut and ready for a fight.

Jason tossed the bat/bird/whateverarang back to him. “Yeah, actually. I’m not _that_ paranoid.”

Dick relaxed. “Good. You here for the meeting, too?”

“Yup. Got invited.”

Dick gaped at him. “What?”

“I think that they think I’m one of them.”

“Well, you _were_ running a big chunk of the Gotham drug trade. Can’t blame them.”

“Yeah, yeah, the point is, I’ve got an in, and you don’t. I’ve got this. Go find a cat to get out of a tree or something.”

“Or, we could work together.” He somehow noticed Jason roll his eyes beneath the helmet. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you can telekinetically lift a rollercoaster, but you’re still my… you’re still not invincible.”

Jason didn’t have time or energy to grill him on that little slip of tongue. He also didn’t have the time or energy to argue with him. Not when he had that look in his eye. “Fine. Just don’t get in the way.” He was agreeing for purely practical reasons. There was no lingering hero worship. He was not excited to be working with Nightwing again whatsoever. He _wasn’t_.

“Good.” Nightwing pulled something small from a practically invisible pocket and held it out to him. “Earpiece. I’ll hear whatever you hear. Go in and –“

“Scope the place out, yeah, I was already gonna do that,” said Jason. “You still got my number?”

Nightwing pulled a phone out of another invisible pocket and checked. “Yes. You need an escape call?”

Jason took off his helmet and put the earpiece in place. “I wouldn’t say _need_ , but it’d be nice. Do it when I say…” He quickly skimmed through his internal dictionary, searching for something weird enough not to use accidentally and normal enough to not be obvious. “Fortuitous.”

“Fortuitous. Got it.” Dick put a hand to his ear. “Testing. One two three, testing.”

Jason got the disorienting feeling of hearing the same phrase from two different sources of differing audio qualities. “It works.” He put his helmet back on. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Nightwing turned back to the building the meeting was in and crouched down into the shadows, bat(?)arangs poised at his fingertips. “Good luck.”

“Way to jinx it.” Jason attached his grapple hook to the edge of the roof and lowered himself to the ground as fast as he could without breaking anything. Once he landed, he retracted the grappling line, took a deep breath, drew himself into an appropriately intimidating stance, and walked over to the building.

It was, shockingly, an abandoned office building rather than an abandoned warehouse. He was really moving up in the world. Next thing you knew, he might be getting invited to places that weren’t a fire hazard. He went to the side door the little girl had told him to go to and knocked. It was hard to resist the urge to give it the shave and a haircut pattern. It wouldn’t exactly help cement his image as a dangerous threat/powerful ally.

After a moment of silence, the door opened to reveal a (probably purposefully) plain-looking guard aiming a gun at Jason. “Are you the real Phoenix?” he asked.

“The fuck kind of stupid question is that?” Jason asked. “What am I supposed to do, whip out my ID?”

The guard looked a little sheepish. “I’m just following orders, man.”

Right. Jason could practically see that chain of events. Guard gets asked to make sure he’s the real deal, boss doesn’t elaborate at all, guard is too scared to ask and too dumb to figure it out on his own. If this was the caliber of criminal he was dealing with, it was a wonder Nightwing hadn’t already shut them down. “I get it. I promise that if I’m not the real one, I’ll kill you first so you don’t get punished for letting me in.”

“Um… thank you?” The guard lowered the gun and stepped to the side. “The boss is four doors down to the left.”

Ground floor, huh? Jason was honestly a little insulted. Sure, this whole thing was a farce he was only playing along with to beat the tar out of the guy, but he could have at least shown him a little respect. He could’ve taken over Gotham if he’d wanted to. Not that anyone else on the planet would know it was for lack of trying. These guys probably thought he’d gotten chased out of Gotham by Black Mask and/or Batman and spent the time since laying low. So… yeah, actually, ground floor meeting made sense.

As he walked to the door, he took careful mental notes on his surroundings. The lobby was spacious, as such rooms usually were, with an old computer atop an empty desk. Wood, probably wouldn’t stop bullets. The hallways branching out were a good deal skinnier. Once he came back with Nightwing, they’d probably want to get into one as quickly as possible, use the chokepoint so they only had to fight a handful at a time. He could hear faint footsteps and voices coming from all directions, and smell the tell-tale scent of a drug lab. Lots of guards, then. Not too many to defeat, especially with Nightwing helping, but possibly too many to make it any fun. It would be a lot easier for him to walk into the meeting room, kill the boss, and sneak back out. But _no_ , he wasn’t allowed to kill, no matter how much they deserved it or how much easier it would make both his and Nightwing’s jobs.

He reached the door, and for some reason was suddenly gripped by a palpable sense of foreboding. It was probably just paranoia, he knew, but he also knew that so-called paranoia was often the subconscious noticing something off and setting off the alarm. The dread was causing more discomfort than the idea of using his powers, so Jason opened his mind and scanned everyone in the building. Lots of scumbags he’d like to kill were the circumstances different, and the ‘boss’ didn’t have a particularly good offer for him, but nothing that would suggest a trap. It was fine. He’d be fine.

He closed his mind, opened the door, and walked in.

It was a nice office, in a self-important middle manager kind of way. Big window with a nice view of the Starbucks across the street. Spacious enough for a (wilting) potted plant. Big, comfy chairs in front of the desk that could be used for fragile cover in a pinch, as could the desk. The latter would be a bit trickier considering the guy most likely to attack him was currently sitting at it. Jason gave him a once-over and concluded that it wouldn’t actually be that tricky. His build and posture all screamed ‘ignore my bragging, punch me and I’ll immediately surrender in tears’. The woman at his shoulder with a rifle and glare might be a bit harder to take out. Not too much harder, though, provided she wasn’t faking that stance.

“Nice place you got here,” he said brightly. “I think I’m getting high off the fumes alone.”

The guy smiled smugly. “We do pride ourselves on the quality of our product. Please, have a seat.”

Jason didn’t, thanks to a combination of wanting to spite the asshole, desire to be ready to run if needed, and realization of how easy it would be for someone to snipe him through the window in that position. “I’m good, thanks. I don’t plan on staying too long.”

The guy actually _twitched._ Damn, he really wasn’t used to hearing ‘no’. “Very well. We can make this brief. My offer is simple, and quite reasonable. Reports of your work in Gotham were quite impressive, but reports can be embellished. Our partnership would require a… trial period, so to speak. To see if you’re as good as they say.”

“You want me to be your fucking intern?” Jason asked, genuinely annoyed. Yeah, sure, this was all a sham, but come on.

“Of course not,” the asshole assured, sweet and insubstantial as cotton candy. “You will be paid for your work. And should you prove yourself, I will be more than happy to grant you a leadership position. I am simply being cautious.”

“This sounds a lot less like a partnership and more like you wanting me to be your employee.” His gun’s weight practically burned against his side, begging to be drawn and discharged.

“Tell me, Phoenix, what offer would you make if you were in my shoes? Would you leap at the chance to split your hard-earned business with an upstart that only lasted a few weeks before being chased out by his competitor?”

 _I wouldn’t be in your shoes. I’m not like you._ The urge to hurt him was too strong for Jason to completely ignore, so he decided to go for some good old-fashioned threatening. It would hardly be out of character for Phoenix. He walked over and firmly placed his hands on the desk, leaning far enough into the guy’s space to be uncomfortable but not so much that his bodyguard immediately drew on him. “Tell you what, how about I give you a first-hand trial run on if I’m as good as they say? Free of charge.”

He was ready for the guard to pull her gun on him at that. If she fired, accidentally or not, he was ready to dodge. Maybe if he hadn’t been so ready for the expected, he would have been more ready for the unexpected. If he had been, he might have had time to do something in the infinitesimal time he had between the sound of the window shattering and the brief half-moment of sharp, ripping agony.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t. And everything went black.


	13. Heatstroke

Dick tapped his finger rhythmically against the roof as he watched Jason walk into the building. It was the most inconspicuous outlet he had for all of the nervous energy in his system.

 _He’ll be fine,_ he told himself. _He knows what he’s doing. You could probably take the entire building on your own, and he’s got the same training as you plus superpowers. Stop worrying._

He couldn’t stop worrying. His feelings toward Jason were… mixed, to say the least. Part of him was still insisting he should be trying to arrest him rather than work with him. He’d hurt a lot of people. He’d hurt _Tim._ Even if Dick didn’t succeed, it would be pretty cathartic to at least punch him. And yet, seeing him go into enemy territory alone had Dick’s heart threatening to beat right out of his chest.

_He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine._

Dick was really regretting his decision to stop bringing that tiny camera with him on patrol. It seemed so unnecessary at the time. When was he going to run into a situation where he needed one? Right now, it turned out. All he was getting from Jason’s earpiece were his footsteps and voices too distant and muffled to make out. If Jason wasn’t really good at describing things, Dick might be in trouble.

Jason started the meeting, to put it delicately. Dick didn’t pay much attention to the actual words used, instead focusing on the tone and inflections behind them. It was a trick he’d learned back in the circus, when every performance seemed to take them to a new country. It worked well for getting around language barriers, and it worked even better for getting around dishonesty. The man Jason was speaking to sounded smug, condescending, and exactly what Dick was expecting based on his investigation. Jason sounded smug, angry, and utterly unimpressed. It was comforting, both to see that he wasn’t intimidated (for good reason, Dick had to assume, because Jason’s instincts were pretty darn good) and to see that Jason was still a little shit.

It was going fine, right up until it wasn’t.

His heart plummeted and temporarily stopped beating as soon as he heard the sound of glass shattering. The sound that followed was a mixture of metallic crunching and organic squelching loud enough to make his ears ring. He winced, clutched at his head, and barely heard the thud and startled scream. His head was still spinning when a ringtone sounded. At first, he thought that maybe dropping his phone had accidentally made the call, but a quick, squinted glance showed it hadn’t.

The ringtone stopped. “What the fuck just happened?” the man demanded.

Dick couldn’t hear what the other person on the call said. He could, however, hear a dripping noise that made his stomach clench. It felt like his head was nearly clear enough to deduce what was happening, and he did not like it.

“You could have warned me!” the man practically screeched.

“Who is it?” asked another voice – female, from the sounds of it.

“The boss,” the man growled. “Sorry, sir, Coleman wanted to know who I was talking to. Are you sure? All right.”

There was a beep, and then a voice that Dick would recognize even through two layers of electronic separation. “Coleman, check for a pulse,” ordered Deathstroke.

No. No. No, no, no, no, _nonononono._ This wasn’t happening. This was just another nightmare about Jason. He was going to wake up any second now. Or Jason would finally speak up and reveal this was all an elaborate setup. Or Coleman would confirm he was still alive. Anything but –

“Negative, sir.”

Dick had never felt so empty so quickly. Like somebody had ripped a hole in him and yanked all his insides out in one pull. He didn’t have the strength to keep standing or reach up and rip out his earpiece. All he could do was fall to his knees, keep listening, and pray for somebody to slip up and reveal this was a dream or a set-up or anything but the truth.

“You’re sure?” asked Deathstroke.

“Yes, sir.”

“You said you wanted to work with him!” said the man. “If you wanted him dead, why not just let me do it?”

“He was a telepath. If anyone in that building knew, he would, too.”

“He was a telepath?” the man repeated, aghast. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

“Did you not hear a word he just said?” Coleman snapped. “What do we do with the body, sir?”

“Do it later. Nightwing should be showing up any minute.”

“Nightwing’s coming?!” the man shrieked. “Why didn’t –“

Deathstroke interrupted him. “Coleman, you’re promoted.”

“What?!”

“Thank you, sir. What –“

“I was in charge long before you showed up, Wilson. How dare you –“

“Frazier, shut the fuck up.” She’d obviously been waiting a long time to be able to say that. “Any advice for dealing with Nightwing, sir?”

“Leave it to me. I’m on my way.”

The call ended with an audible _click_ that snapped Dick out of his daze. He ripped the earpiece out of his ear and jumped to his feet. He had to get in there. He had to save Jason. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Not again. Please, not again. The only way Dick had been able to cope the last time was by convincing himself that he couldn’t have done anything, not when he was on a mission in space at the time (he hadn’t even been able to go to the goddamn funeral). If he’d been on Earth, he would have done something. It couldn’t have happened again while he was less than a block away, after telling him to put himself in that situation. Jason was alive, and Dick had to go in there and save him. He had to.

He followed the path Jason had taken to the door, turned to the left, and hesitated. What he should do was find the broken window and go in through there. It was the path of least resistance. The quickest path to finding Jason. Or his… Actually, no, he shouldn’t do that. If Deathstroke was within sniping – close by, he’d get there before Dick could get Jason anywhere safe. Taking on Deathstroke was a challenge at the best of times. With a two-hundred-pound liability to keep an eye on? Practically impossible. Better to at least take out some guards before he arrived. If he knew Deathstroke (and he did), he’d want it to just be the two of them.

He gave the door a quick scan for weak points and knocked it down with one kick. The surprised guard let out a yelp and fumbled for his gun. Dick knocked him out before he could find the trigger. He used the few moments he had before someone came to investigate to get his bearings. Multiple entrances, one fragile-looking desk for cover, and one light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Perfect. One wingding to the lightbulb, and the room got a hell of a lot darker. He highly doubted these people had as much training as he did for fighting in the dark.

The first to appear was an angry-looking woman (Coleman?). She got a wingding to the hand and an escrima stick to the head. She got off a shot before she went down. It didn’t hit, but the noise was definitely going to alert any guards that weren’t already on their way. Honestly, he was glad of it. Beating up people was a good outlet, and he had a _lot_ of stuff to let out right now.

He stopped thinking once the guards started filing in. He didn’t have to, with opponents like this. He just let his instincts and training take over. If somebody had asked him about the fight afterward, he wouldn’t have been able to describe it beyond ‘easy’. He was pretty sure it took about three waves of bad guys for him to work up a sweat, and he was pretty sure he flipped a guy into the desk and broke it, but beyond that it was all a big, violent blur.

Things only came into focus again when a gratingly familiar voice sounded. “Enough.”

Everybody froze, except for Dick, who took advantage of the distraction to punch his current opponent, knocking him out. Once he was down, and nobody replaced him, he turned to glare at Deathstroke. He hadn’t come in through the main door. He’d come from the hallway to the left… where Jason was.

Dick thought he couldn’t possibly hate Deathstroke more. He was wrong. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to charge him right that second. If he opened his mouth to try and engage in their usual repartee, he’d just end up screaming, so he kept it shut.

“I can handle this,” Deathstroke said to the remaining conscious guards. “Go back to your posts.”

The guards looked to each other uncomfortably. Dick wondered if they’d ever actually seen Deathstroke before now. Even if they hadn’t, they still came to the conclusion that he was somebody they should listen to, and scattered out of sight.

Dick’s rage had cooled to a seething boil, just enough for him to speak. “What did you do him?” he hissed.

Deathstroke was wearing his mask, so the slight tilt of his head was the only visible sign of confusion. “What did I do to who?”

“Phoenix,” Dick snarled. “What did you do to him?”

“Bullet to the head,” he said casually. _Casually._ Like it was nothing. Like… “Doubt he even felt it, if it makes you feel better.”

“You’re lying.” He had to be. This was Deathstroke. He was always lying. He’d noticed that Dick was acting too emotional over this for Phoenix to be a stranger, and he was trying to rile him up and get him angry so he’d make mistakes. Jason was just knocked out or sedated. He’d be okay, as soon as Dick defeated Deathstroke and got him out of here.

Deathstroke stepped to the side and said, “Go see for yourself. Fourth door on the left.”

A trick. Or a trap. Or both. Obviously. Dick was angry, and knew Slade could dodge, so he threw a wingding directly at his heart. He couldn’t completely dodge it and it lodged itself in the armor on his upper arm. Not deep enough to hit skin, from the looks of it, but it took him a moment to yank it back out. A moment Dick used to close the distance and slam an escrima stick as hard as he could into his ribs. The armor absorbed most of the force, but he hoped he at least left a bruise. He jumped back just in time to avoid Deathstroke grabbing him.

He hung back a moment to catch his breath. Deathstroke tilted his head again as he drew his sword. “Who was he to you?”

 _Was._ Past tense. It meant nothing. Deathstroke was an experienced liar, he wouldn’t slip up on something so simple. It wasn’t worth responding to. Dick charged back into the fight.

A few rounds of blows later, Deathstroke blocked a blow from his escrima sticks with his sword and took the moment their weapons were locked together to speak again. “Fascinating. I don’t think you were this mad even when I blew up your city.”

Dick tried to let the comment slide off his back. He was just taunting him. Dick was used to that sort of thing. Hell, he did it himself all the time, though he usually stuck to bad puns. This time, though, with Jason de – with Jason in danger only a few rooms away, it worked. He pulled back, ducked under the sword, and rammed the end of a stick into Deathstroke’s throat. He paid for it almost instantly when Slade drove the hilt of his sword into his side with a _crack_ and blast of numb pain that clearly telegraphed at least one broken rib. He was knocked to the ground and quickly rolled out of the way before Deathstroke stomped or stabbed or any other method he had of killing him.

In true supervillain fashion, Deathstroke decided to take the opportunity to keep talking. “How is it that the Justice League’s golden boy gets so close with a rogue Assassin?”

Golden boy…

_Jason put his hands on his hips, rolled his eyes, and blew a curly strand of hair out of his face, the picture of tweenage attitude. “Whatever, golden boy. I coulda taken ‘em.”_

Dick yanked himself out of that flashback before it could go any further. He didn’t have time for it. Not with Deathstroke getting ready for round two, and not when the second part of that sentence hit him. Assassin? With a capital A, from the tone. “What are you talking about?” he asked, rising to his feet.

Deathstroke glanced back down the hall, then turned back and shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, now does it?” Dick could hear the smirk in his words.

“Stop lying!” Dick threw a wingding – wild, clumsy, too fueled by anger to have proper technique.

Deathstroke caught it and tossed it aside. “Denial doesn’t suit you, Nightwing.”

Why was Deathstroke keeping this up? What was the point? If he wanted to kill him, why not lead him back to where Jason was and hold him hostage, now that he knew it would work? It didn’t make sense. Not if Jason was still alive, which he had to be. He had to… Dick had to trip Deathstroke up. Reveal the lie. “It’s not denial. It’s knowing that you wouldn’t stand a chance against him.”

“In a fair fight? Probably not,” Slade admitted. “From two kilometers away with a sniper rifle? Like I said, doubt he even felt it.”

It made sense, but it couldn’t. “Why?” Dick asked. It was the final piece of the puzzle. He silently prayed to every higher power he could think of that it wouldn’t fit.

“I promised Black Mask he’d die. My people failed in Gotham, so I decided to do it myself.”

The piece fit. It fit perfectly. Deathstroke had probably been planning this ever since Gotham. He’d probably heard about Phoenix’s ‘no dealing to kids’ rule. Once Jason popped up on the radar again, it would have been simple to find the exact kind of operation he’d target and lure him into the right spot. Maybe it was Dick’s imagination, or his denial had just been that strong, but as the last dregs of hope slipped through his fingers, he could swear he smelled blood in the air. Too much blood for whoever spilled it to be alive.

He used to have dreams about what might have happened if he hadn’t gone on that mission in space. Sometimes, he was able to save Jason. Sometimes, he died with him. And sometimes all that changed was that it was Dick that found his body instead of Bruce.

He wasn’t in space. He was right there. And it hadn’t changed a thing.

Dick gripped his escrima sticks so tightly he thought they’d break, took one last deep breath, and charged.

* * *

Jason was in the White Hot Room again. Maybe it was because it had been so long, but something felt… different. Bad different. Very, _very_ bad different. He couldn’t quantify how exactly until a fractured shard of his mind bounced off a wall and hit the thing that lived there. It was awake. And it was looking at him. It reached out to touch his mind, and he immediately blacked out.

When he came to, he was in a picturesque field you’d see on a postcard or a default computer wallpaper. Hell, he was pretty sure he _had_ seen this picturesque field in a movie or a postcard or a wallpaper. It didn’t look like the White Hot Room, and it didn’t quite feel like it, either, but it was way closer to that than actual, normal reality. A soothing breeze and smell of flowers didn’t help much with the brain-exploding headache.

A robin flew down and landed in front of him. “Is that better?” it asked. It took him a second to realize the voice was his own. Technically. Like somebody had copied his vocal cords but not his inflection or tone. It was even more disturbing than listening to himself on the phone, and that was saying something.

“What in the actual, _literal_ fuck is going on right now?” he asked.

“You died again,” the Robin said matter-of-factly. “Before I repair the damage to your body and return your soul to it, I want to know how I should respond when it happens again.”

Jason sank to his knees, buried his face in his hands, and mumbled/screamed incoherently, though if one had to transcribe it the closest phrase would be ‘What the fuck’.

“I would look into your mind directly, but you seem to think that is rude,” said the robin.

“You are not helping!” Jason screamed.

“How about this?”

There was a faint tinkling sound. Jason looked up and saw a mug had spontaneously appeared in front of him. He picked it up cautiously and sniffed it. It smelled precisely like Alfred’s hot chocolate. He had a lot bigger things to worry about than a drugged drink, so he took a huge gulp. As always, it felt like getting a hug from the inside out. By the time he’d drank his fill, he could almost forget he was having a multi-sensory hallucination at best.

“Can you be rational now?”

Jason glared at the robin. “You know what? Since you asked, no. Fuck you. Considering the circumstances, I think I’m justified in being as irrational as I want.”

He’d never seen many non-sidekick robins in his life, but he imagined the judgmental look this one was radiating must be extraordinary. “Fine. If you regret your decision in the future, do not blame me.”

“I’d need to know who you are before I started blaming you.”

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t remember this, anyway.”

“Right. Of course.” Honestly, the idea of not remembering all this was pretty damn appealing. “What’s the point of it, then?”

“I will remember. Are you ready to answer?”

“No. Are _you_ ready to answer _my_ questions?”

“As I said, any answers I give will be forgotten.”

“Forgotten, or erased?”

“Erased,” said the robin without an ounce of shame. “The less you know of me, the more mortal your perspective.”

Jason put the mug down and massaged his temples. “I dunno if you noticed, buddy, but my perspective’s already pretty goddamn weird.”

“I am aware. You are still a more than adequate host for observational purposes.”

“Okay. Okay,” said Jason, mostly to himself as he tried to wrap his fried brain around all this. “So… You’re the thing in the White Hot Room?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re the one that brought me back to life and gave me powers?”

“The powers were an unforeseen side-effect. Will you answer now?”

Jason had learned a long time ago to tell when somebody was getting impatient and how far he could push his luck. Back then, he’d just been dealing with normal (if awful) humans. Now that he was dealing with the thing that was apparently using him as a host and holding his life in its hands? “Just one more question?”

“Very well.”

Jason took a breath, braced himself, and asked, “What’s the price of all this, and who has to pay it?”

The robin tilted its head slightly and thought it over for a moment. “The only thing I expect in return for your life is your perspective, and you are already giving it to me. As for the powers… Energy cannot be destroyed. You are simply transferring my power. It shall return to me, in due time.”

Jason breathed out. “So, no dead puppies whenever I summon the TV remote?”

“Not unless you hit one with it.”

Okay. That made him feel a bit better. Sure, there was a good chance this was all fake and/or a lie, but it still made him feel better. “You’re sure I can’t remember this?”

“That’s two questions.”

Jason sighed. “Fine. Ask.” The sooner he got out of here, the better.

“When you die again, should I continue to resurrect you afterward, or should I prevent it from happening in the first place?”

“What do you mean, _when_ I die again?”

“You have died twice in less than a year. I assume it will happen again.”

“Twice?” Jason squeaked.

Burning talons grabbed him and dragged him down into a flashback to that time he’d bashed his head open on a rooftop while trying to get away from Batman. He barely had time to comprehend it before he was back in the field.

“I _died_?” He thought he’d just gotten a concussion. If the robin was telling the truth… Holy shit, what a lame way to die. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome,” said the robin so awkwardly Jason wondered if it had ever said it before. “Will you answer now?”

Right. “What exactly does preventing it entail?” he asked.

“It would depend upon the situation. In this case, I would have caused the gun to jam.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “If you could do that, why didn’t you?”

“I want to interfere as little as possible.”

Jason couldn’t exactly argue with that. The less this weird bird thing involved itself in his life, the better. “Okay. Yeah, I think jamming a few guns is way less interfering than literally returning my soul to my body.”

“I understand. Goodbye, Jason.”

Jason opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. He’d almost forgotten what white-hot headaches felt like. Everything was too bright and loud and painful, so he closed them again and just laid there until the world seemed slightly less cruel. It was around that point where he remembered the circumstances of this loss of consciousness. He immediately catapulted upright and looked around the room. Nobody was in there. There was, however, a broken window and a pool of blood right where his head had been, along with fragments of what looked like his helmet. He reached up to check and found a significant hole, along with a lot of somewhat-dried blood, but no actual wound.

He yanked off his helmet and, due to a lack of mirrors, pulled out his (slightly more cracked, but still usable, thank God) phone to take a picture of Schrödinger’s Head Injury. He gave the picture as close an examination as possible. It wasn’t going to be fun washing all that matted blood out of his hair, but again, no actual wound. He jabbed it a few more times with his fingers and found the only pain to be his headache.

Ooookay, then. His headache was still far too strong for him to start making proper deductions on what the fuck just happened, so he was going to try not to think about it. It was easy to when he finally started to notice the unmistakable sounds of combat coming from nearby. Theoretically, it would probably be best for him to ignore it and leave. Go back to his motel room and first aid kit. He actually took a step towards the window before he remembered that Dick was probably one of the people fighting, and their little plan was shattered into as many pieces as the window.

With a sigh, Jason put his helmet back on, pulled out a gun, and walked out the door.

Somebody had knocked out the lights in the lobby, so it was hard to see exactly who was fighting. There were two of them, and one of them was definitely fighting like Nightwing. The other was using a sword, and using it _very_ well. Unnaturally well. The figure’s quick dodge into the light just long enough to reveal a flash of orange confirmed Jason’s initial suspicion. Deathstroke.

Jason remained perfectly still, careful not to draw attention to himself, and evaluated the situation. Nightwing had clearly gotten some good hits in, but not nearly as many as he’d taken. Looking at how he was fighting, Jason could see why. He was tempted to pull out his phone and start recording so he had something to throw in Dick’s face next time he tried lecturing him on fighting recklessly. Was he _trying_ to get himself killed?

Trying or not, he was going to succeed at this rate if Jason didn’t step in. He was as likely to hit Dick as Deathstroke if he tried shooting, so he put his gun away and ran toward them.

Dick saw him first, because of course he did, and of course he froze at the sight and gave Deathstroke a perfect opening to go for the kill. Jason wasn’t close enough to do anything about it physically, so he had to do it psychically. Wincing preemptively, he telekinetically yanked the sword out of his hands. He’d intended to catch it himself, but the spike of pain from his headache had him lose control and send it flying into a wall. Ah, well. It wasn’t cutting Dick’s head off, so it was fine.

Jason didn’t know Deathstroke well enough to know what expression he had under the mask, but he suspected it wasn’t a very dignified one. “How?” he asked. “You were dead. I shot you in the head. I saw your brains spilling onto the carpet.”

Jason was glad he’d put the helmet on, because the expression on his face was doubtlessly not very dignified, either. He’d actually _died?_ What the – No. He’d think about that once Deathstroke was neutralized. “Didn’t take,” he said brightly. He glanced over at Dick and saw that he was still frozen in place, staring at Jason like he was an angel from on high announcing the Second Coming or something else ludicrously wonderful. Clearly, he wasn’t going to be taking advantage of this distraction whatsoever. It was up to Jason. Good.

Deathstroke pulled a gun and shot at him faster than a normal human body could react to. Not faster than human thought, though. The bullets bounced harmlessly off Jason’s telekinetic shield. Before Deathstroke could try any other tricks, Jason threw him into a wall hard enough to make several something crack, including the wall.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest and did his best to project an aura of disdain. “Done yet?”

Deathstroke said nothing as he rose to kneel on one knee. His shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths, and his head moved ever so slightly to show he was looking around the room – looking for some sort of advantage. Eventually, his attention focused on Nightwing, who was _still_ frozen and staring at Jason and painting a neon target on his back. Deathstroke barely got to start moving before Jason reacted.

With a great, sickening _crack_ , or maybe an amalgamation of smaller ones, along with a spike of pain for Jason on par with getting shot in the head again, Deathstroke fell back to the floor with a pained snarl. “This… isn’t over,” he hissed, before going limp. So limp that Jason had to go over and make sure he hadn’t accidentally killed him. He let out a sigh of relief when he found a steady pulse and only broken bones. A _lot_ of broken bones. Probably every bone that wouldn’t kill and/or paralyze him.

Jason looked up at Dick, or maybe the statue that had replaced him because he _still_ hadn’t fucking moved. “He’s alive, no need to lecture me,” he said, rising to his feet.

Dick finally snapped out of it and started running at Jason. Jason prepared for the punch, or kick, or however else Dick was going to try and relieve whatever emotions were going on in his head. He’d do the same in his shoes, even if it was just one of those ‘How dare you worry me like that’ hits. He wasn’t prepared for the hug. He _definitely_ wasn’t prepared for Dick to cling to him so painfully tight, like he was afraid he’d disappear if he let go and was trying to act as his anchor to reality. And he _most_ definitely wasn’t ready for the tears that seeped through the collar of his shirt as Dick buried his face into it.

“I thought –“ Somehow, Dick squeezed him even closer. “I was –“ Whatever he was trying to say dissolved into sobs.

Jason wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Well, no, he knew that he was supposed to hug him back, in accordance with general societal norms. But general societal norms didn’t really work for people like them. Trying to hug him back might activate his Bat instincts and have him pull back and shut down, which would probably be really bad for him psychologically. Considering Jason couldn’t remember ever returning a single one of the (admittedly few) hugs Dick had ever given him, doing so now might also fuel Batman’s theory that he was possessed.

So, Jason settled for the emotionally-repressed standby of the awkward shoulder pat and said, “I’m okay.”

Dick pulled back, frowning. “Are you?” He grabbed Jaon’s helmet and turned it so he could get a good look at the not-wound. “That does _not_ look okay, Jason.”

“I’m okay _now_ ,” Jason amended. “I don’t know how, but I woke up and it was all healed.”

Dick futilely tried wiping his tears away. “Is this… what happened last time?”

It took Jason a second to realize what he was talking about. The last time he came back to life. “I don’t know. Last time, everything was… it was just a blur.” He didn’t want Dick asking any more questions and having another crying fit if Jason let slip anything about Talia, so he pulled off his helmet again and inspected the hole. “Damn it. This isn’t gonna be cheap to fix.”

“Don’t you have spares?” Dick asked.

Jason shook his head. “Nah. Only had enough for the one.”

Most of the worry and sadness in Dick’s frown was replaced by sheer confusion. “But… You’re saying you only have one helmet?”

“Yeah. Why?” Jason asked, with a great sense of foreboding.

“Because you left an identical helmet behind in Gotham, and last I checked it was still in the Batcave.”

Jason’s brain felt like it might melt trying to comprehend that. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen the helmet before his little space adventure, and the first time after it. There was a gap there, wasn’t there? And hadn’t summoning the helmet back taken way more out of him than it should have? What, had he summoned a new one out of seawater? Had he? Oh, God, _had_ he? He’d already been using his telekinesis on the molecular level. Why wouldn’t he be able to create a new helmet out of the elements around him?

He sighed and put the helmet back on. “Look, if something weird’s going on with me, just assume I don’t know what the fuck is going on either, okay? I need…” A drink? It was tempting, but not tempting enough to overcome the promise he’d made to himself after seeing what it did to his father. A smoke? Also tempting, but not more tempting than the thought of not getting lung cancer. “I need to hit something.”

“No,” Dick snapped, anger and worry and sadness all coming back full force. “You literally just _died_ , Little Wing. You are going home, giving yourself a proper check for injuries, and going to bed.”

Jason barely heard the second sentence. His brain was too busy misfiring over hearing that stupid nickname for the first time in… he couldn’t even remember how long it had been. He couldn’t even remember when the last time he’d seen Dick before he’d died had been. “I’m taller than you,” he said.

Dick let out the harsh, hysterical laugh of somebody who needed an outlet before they exploded from all their feelings. Once the worst of it subsided, he half-laughed, half-cried out the words, “Doesn’t matter. You’re still my little brother.”

Jason was too mentally exhausted to deny the warm and fuzzy feelings that statement gave him. Mentally, anyway. Outwardly, he had no problem grumbling, “Dickface.”

Dick’s grin was only slightly dampened by the tears. “See? Textbook little brother behavior.” He took a step back and looked down at Deathstroke’s prone, broken form. “All right. Okay. You go round up whoever’s still in the building without getting shot in the head again, I’ll call the police to arrest them all, and then you’re coming back to my place for some proper medical care and a good night’s sleep if I have to drag you every step of the way.”

“I’m not –“ Jason faltered as Dick’s grin was replaced by a startlingly good impression of a kicked puppy. “Fine. But only because I’m too tired to argue.”

“If you’re tired, you shouldn’t –“

“No. I can do it. Fuck you. In fact, I’ll multitask by knocking everybody out _and_ getting sleep at the same time.”

Before Dick could protest, Jason reached out telepathically, carefully excluded Dick, and willed everybody else in the building to pass out. He had just enough time to smile vindictively at the thought of Dick having to pull his 200+ pounds of dead weight through the city before he followed suit.


	14. Attempts and Failures

Hardly for the first time, Jason woke up to the sound of people shouting in the next room. He blinked the sleep from his eyes quickly and took in his surroundings. He was lying on an uncomfortable bed in a strange bedroom filled with more cardboard boxes than personality. The sun streaming through the window informed him he’d actually gotten a good night’s sleep, for once. Any lingering questions on where he was were answered when he spotted a very old-looking Flying Graysons poster on the wall. Dick really had dragged him all the way back to his place. He’d even been nice/guilty enough to put him in bed instead of on the couch.

Jason continued to ignore the shouting (it was practically second nature at this point) and reached up to check where his head wound formerly was. Not even matted blood. Dick must have cleaned it up. Jason patted himself down and breathed a sigh of relief to find himself still in his own clothes, albeit without his jacket or armor. At least somebody in their ‘family’ had some respect for privacy.

The shouting spiked too loud for Jason to hear, and he finally realized who exactly was yelling.

Speaking of ‘family’…

He scanned the room for his things. His helmet was on the nightstand, his jacket was flung messily on a chair, and the majority of his weapons were nowhere to be seen. He got to his feet, collected what he could see, and snooped around a bit to see if Dick had just hidden them in his sock drawer or something. Sadly, he wasn’t _that_ much of an idiot, and Jason found nothing but an organizational system that would probably make Alfred cry.

Jason glanced at the door. He didn’t care that much about most of his weapons, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving his kris behind. On the other hand, getting so attached to inanimate objects (especially ones given to him by people he didn’t like thinking about) wasn’t a good idea, he had enough hidden weapons on him to get by until he could get more, and trying to get his stuff back meant dealing with an angry Bruce. Sorry, kris.

The window opened with an ungodly, rusty screech. The yelling immediately stopped, and not even someone as fast as Jason managed to get more than halfway out before the door slammed open. Jason froze and closed his eyes, not wanting to see what expression was on Bruce’s face. He didn’t need to. He got a very detailed picture just from hearing him br – no, breathe wasn’t the right word. Audibly seething was more like it.

“Jason,” he said with a forced sort of calm. “Get back inside.”

Old instincts had him complying before his brain could object. He’d be cursing them if those same instincts hadn’t saved his life countless times. Then again, apparently dying wasn’t a very big deal for him. Those instincts also didn’t have anything to do with having to actually look at Bruce, so he kept his gaze firmly on a stain of indeterminate origin in the carpet.

Bruce took a step toward him. Jason unconsciously took a step back, away from him. Bruce stopped, with a faint sound as if he’d allowed a hand reaching out to fall back against his side. “Are you all right?”

 _I’d be a lot better if you weren’t here._ The words got stuck in his throat, heavy and burning, so he silently shrugged instead.

“I…”

Dick spoke up before Bruce could say anything else, which Jason was very grateful for. “Jason, do you want to talk to him?”

 _No. Yes. No, I want to scream at him. Yes, but I want to talk to the old Bruce._ Jason couldn’t respond. Not even non-verbally. His body seemed to have frozen solid.

“I think that’s a no,” said Dick. “Bruce.” That ‘Bruce’ would make Alfred proud, or at least as proud as he could be of someone who seemed to sort his clothes by color instead of type. In one word, Dick was able to get the message ‘I’m this close to throwing you out and never talking to you again’ across loud and clear.

Over the sound of his own rapid heartbeat, Jason heard Bruce take in a sharp breath. “Your helmet. What happened?” _Mission report,_ the Robin part of Jason's brain translated.

Jason looked up at Dick, who was now looking between Jason and Bruce with a somewhat guilty look. Jason tried to ignore Bruce, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. Even in his peripheral vision he could see the look of horror on his face.

When Jason still didn’t say anything, Bruce turned to glare at Dick. “What. Happened?”

He didn’t know. Fuck. He was already mad/upset/guilty enough over whatever information he’d gleaned second-hand. Finding out what actually happened might just give him a heart attack.

Jason and Dick looked at each other. Finally, Jason found his voice. “You explain,” he said, before going back to bed and burying himself under the covers.

Once they were out of the room and closed the door behind them, Jason couldn’t resist the urge to eavesdrop. He crept over to the door, took off his helmet, and pressed his ear to the crack.

“- is fine now, and as far as I know nobody died,” Dick was saying, with the tone and quickness of somebody trying to soften a blow before it hit.

Bruce didn’t say anything, but his glare was palpable even through the door.

Dick took a deep breath before he started talking. “So, there was a drug ring I’d been trying to take down for a few weeks. I got a tip about some big meeting happening last night, and went there to take them out. It turns out Jason was the one they were meeting with.” The next words came out much faster in response to whatever expression Bruce was making. “He wasn’t actually going to work with them. He was just using it as an excuse to scope the place out. He noticed me and we decided to work together.” He paused, clearly trying to think of a tactful way to say ‘And then he got shot in the head’.

“And then what?” Bruce half-asked, half-growled.

“It was a set-up. Deathstroke heard that Phoenix was in town and decided to take us both out at once. As soon as Jason was in the right position, he… Okay, let me just repeat that Jason is fine now, you’ve seen it with your own eyes.”

“Just tell me what happened, Dick,” Bruce snapped.

“Deathstroke killed him. Sniper shot to the head. I didn’t know exactly what happened, so I went in to try and save him. I fought Deathstroke until Jason came back and took him out – non-lethally. I’m sure Slade will be up and escaping prison in no time. Jason passed out after that, so I brought him back here to make sure he was okay. Then you showed up, and you know how the rest went.”

If there’d been a clock in the room, Jason would have timed exactly how long Bruce’s silence was. His own, human-error-ridden count was twenty-eight seconds before he said, so quietly Jason almost didn’t hear it, “What?”

“I know,” said Dick, softer than anything else he’d said that morning. “I don’t know how it happened. Jason says he doesn’t know, either. What matters is that he’s okay now.”

Something squeaked. Given the context, Jason guessed that Bruce had just sat down on Dick’s old, cheap, rusty couch. At least, he assumed it was old, cheap, and rusty, from the sound and extrapolating from the state of Dick’s bed.

When it became clear Bruce wasn’t talking any time soon, Dick said, “Yeah. It’s a lot to take in. I’ll just… leave you to it… and make sure Jason hasn’t jumped out the window.”

Jason had just enough time to leap back into bed and hide himself before Dick opened the door.

Dick closed it behind him and quietly said, “We both know you were listening, Jason. Get up.”

“Fuck you,” Jason grumbled, burrowing deeper under the covers. It wasn’t so much that he actually wanted to keep hiding as Bruce's presence made him feel contrary towards the universe.

Dick sighed. “Great. Just great. This is all just _great._ ” Jason heard him pace to and fro across the tiny bedroom a few times, and the distinctive inhale-exhale pattern of calming breathing exercises. Eventually, Dick stopped next to the bed. “Look, I don’t know what to do here, and Bruce sure as hell doesn’t know what to do here, and I’m pretty sure you don’t, either. So, let’s accept we’re all on even ground and try to act like well-adjusted adults.”

Jason’s disbelieving laughter definitely breached the layers of sheets and blankets he’d buried himself in.

“I said _act like_ , didn’t I?” Dick patted Jason on the forearm through the blankets. “Just come out and have some breakfast, at least. I’ve got that cereal Alfred banned from the manor for being too sugary.”

Jason was doing it for the cereal. Only the cereal. Nothing else. “Fine.” He threw off the blankets and fixed Dick with the most venomous glare he could. “Don’t ruin it,” he added when Dick grinned and opened his mouth to say something that would doubtless change Jason’s mind on the whole ‘not jumping out the window’ thing.

Jason instinctively scanned the other room as he entered it. A small living room/kitchen/dining room that was clearly still getting furnished/unpacked, with only two rickety chairs at a slightly uneven table and a couch that looked more like a moth banquet. And on that couch was Bruce, whom Jason couldn’t look away from fast enough not to see the desolate/guilty/hopeful expression on his face.

“Where’s the cereal?” Jason asked, awkwardly staring at the window opposite from Bruce.

“Cupboard left of the fridge. Bowls are in the cupboard next to it. Cutlery right of the sink,” said Dick.

Jason collected all the necessary ingredients for a bowl of cereal and tried to ignore the almost physical feeling of Bruce’s gaze boring a hole into the back of his head. Once he was ready, he went to the table and moved one of the chairs so it was facing away from the couch before he started eating. The cereal was just as sweet as he remembered. He could practically feel the cavities forming.

“You know how bad that is for you, right?”

Jason’s hand clenched, and with a little telekinetic help practically bent his spoon into a circle. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and willed it back into its proper shape. Once that was done, and he felt like he could speak without screaming, he said, “It’s Dick’s cereal.”

“Bruce, now isn’t the time,” Dick chided.

Then, because apparently he could never control his mouth when Bruce was around, Jason said, “Besides, it’s not like any of us are gonna die of old age.”

Jason swore that Bruce and Dick’s hearts must have stopped beating for a second, because in that silence a pin would have sounded like a thunderclap.

Dick found his voice first. “Don’t say things like that.”

Jason looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. “It’s the truth. We’re all supposed to be detectives, right? Dealing with the truth is part of the job. Just like almost definitely dying young, statistically speaking.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “Jason, I’m not kicking you out, no matter what you say.”

“I’m not trying to get kicked out!” Though he couldn’t exactly blame Dick for coming to that conclusion. Pissing people off so they pushed themselves away from him wasn’t totally out of character for Jason. “I’m just… It’s kinda hard to think straight with _him_ around.”

“What did I do wrong, Jason?” Bruce suddenly asked.

Jason nearly choked on his cereal, and Dick looked like he was praying he could spontaneously develop the ability to teleport away from this situation.

Bruce, in true Bruce fashion, took the stunned/shocked/horrified silence as an invitation to continue. “You’ve been avoiding me for months, and I don’t understand why. You seemed…” He shot a look at Dick. “You seemed more open to communicating last we saw each other.”

Well, at least he wasn’t describing what a mess Jason had been last they saw each other in front of Dick. That was something. Not much, but something. And it couldn’t be anything more than that while Dick was around making both of them mince words. “Dick, get out,” said Jason. “I need to yell at him in private.”

Dick looked between the two of them like a rock and a hard place about to crash into each other and deal untold damage without him between them as a buffer. Okay, maybe not the best metaphor, but forgive Jason for not being super eloquent when he felt like his brain was in danger of melting. “If I hear anything worse than shouting, I’m coming back in,” he warned before grabbing his phone and going into his bedroom.

Jason barely had time to wonder if he was going to use that phone to call somebody for help/advice/rescue before Bruce asked, “Is it because of Tim?”

Jason dropped his spoon and pushed the bowl away in case his telekinesis got any other funny ideas. The likelihood felt like it was increasing by the second. “I’m sure Barbara told you that was an accident.”

“Was it?”

Jason stood up so fast his chair fell over and whirled around to face him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Bruce had gone into emotional lockdown mode, if his carefully blank expression was anything to judge by. “You didn’t break into the tower by accident. You didn’t attack Tim by accident. You –“

“Do you honestly think I _wanted_ to kill him?” Jason asked incredulously, heart squeezing painfully tight.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I – I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I meant. I was just…” He sighed. “I don’t know what I was trying to do.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, either,” Jason grumbled.

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

Jason picked up the chair and sat down on it, facing Bruce with his arms crossed. “Well, you’re technically succeeding at that. Congratulations.”

Bruce’s gaze drifted to the window as he took a few seconds to carefully edit his next statement so that it wouldn’t make Jason immediately jump out of it. Considering how jumpy Jason was feeling, it had better be some damn good editing.

Eventually, he asked, “Why don’t you want to talk to me?”

Jason’s knee-jerk reaction was to jump out the window and avoid this conversation, but that was the point of the question, wasn’t it? Bruce didn’t understand why he was trying so hard to avoid this conversation. He didn’t understand that… that… Why didn’t Jason want to talk to him? Because Bruce always managed to say the wrong thing? Because Jason always ended up getting upset, and when he was upset things got destroyed and people got hurt? Because he was afraid that he’d be the one to say the wrong thing and drive Bruce away forever? Wasn’t that the point? Didn’t he _want_ to be left alone?

“It’s complicated,” he said aloud.

“Could you just –“ Bruce cut himself off with a sigh. “I know it’s complicated. I just…”

“You just hoped I’d give you a ten-step plan on how to turn me back into the kid you remember?” Jason snapped.

“That’s not what I want,” Bruce snapped back. “I know that we can’t go back to the way things were. Everything’s changed too much for that. Especially me.”

It took Jason a few seconds to realize he hadn’t misheard that last word. His entire being had been ready for that word to be _you._ What the fuck was Jason supposed to say now?

When Jason didn’t immediately speak, Bruce forged ahead, as if afraid he’d stop and never be able to try again if he lost the slightest bit of momentum. “I can’t expect you to be that kid again, because I’m not the man you remember anymore. Losing you changed me, and that change can’t be undone, even with you back. We’re different people, so our relationship is going to be different. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be better than what it is now.”

He paused for breath, and even that short stop was enough to make him falter and seem to lose his train of thought.

Jason’s brain couldn’t think of a response. His smart mouth could, though. “Wow. You get that from a self-help book?” No way Bruce was able to come up with a speech like that on his own.

Bruce gave a small smile, and Jason hated how happy the sight made him. “From people who know more about this sort of thing than me.”

“So, Alfred.”

“Among others.”

“So, Clark and Diana?”

“And J’onn,” Bruce admitted.

Right. As much as Jason hated the thought of more people knowing about his issues, it was better than Bruce trying to navigate this emotional quagmire without any help. If he’d been relying solely on his own messed-up brand of expressing himself, Jason probably would have burned down the entire building by now. And if anyone outside the Batfamily had to know, there were far worse people than Clark, Diana, and J’onn.

Jason leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. It was too early in the morning for him to think straight, but maybe that was what he needed right now. “Okay. Let’s say, hypothetically, I wanted to talk to you and have a relationship and all that bullshit. How exactly do you envision that going?”

Bruce’s mouth opened and closed a few times, like he hadn’t actually expected to get this far and hadn’t planned ahead. Man, wouldn’t that be ironic. The guy that didn’t like the term ‘Plan B’ because it implied he only had twenty-six plans, brought low by his son not jumping out a window to avoid talking to him. “I… How would you want it to go?”

“Just answer the question,” Jason growled, because it was so much easier to say than _I literally cannot imagine a plausible scenario that makes us both happy._

Bruce looked down at his fingers as they drummed against the arm of the couch. Jason wondered if there was a part of him analyzing the couch and trying to think of how to buy Dick a new one and sneak it in without making him mad. Hell, Jason himself was starting to wonder the same thing. Seriously, he’d seen nicer furniture get pulled out of dumpsters.

Finally, Bruce said, “Maybe something like a normal relationship between a father and his adult son? Come back to the manor for holidays, let me know how you’re doing, that sort of thing?”

Jason tried to imagine it. It wasn’t a bad thought, until he tried imagining how a call home might go. “Yeah, sure, that’d go _great_ ,” he said, words dripping with as much sarcasm as he could muster. He held a hand to his ear in the universal, increasingly outdated gesture of a fake phone call. “’Hey, Bruce, how’s it going? Me? Oh, I’m doing great. Just dumping some bodies in the river. No big deal’.”

That did a good job stomping out the hope blooming in Bruce’s expression. “You still plan on killing people?”

“If they deserve it, yeah.”

“Nobody deserves it.”

Jason jerked to his feet. “And there’s my cue.” He raised his voice and opened his mind a crack in the direction of the bedroom. “Dick! Where’s my knife?!”

As expected, Dick’s mind immediately flooded with images of all the knives he’d taken off him while he was asleep and where he’d hidden them.

“Thanks!” Jason went to the kitchen and pulled his kris out of the drawer.

Dick came barreling out of his room. “Jason, no!”

“Jason, please.”

Jason ignored them. “Great talk, guys. See you next time I need a reminder of how overrated family is.” Going back into the bedroom to get his helmet meant pushing past Dick, who would definitely make it harder than it needed to be, so he simply held out a hand and summoned it telekinetically. He was out the window and flying away before they could say anything else.

With the fresh, cool wind whipping through his hair and enough empty space around him to let his mental defenses down and relax without getting assaulted by people’s deep, dark secrets, it didn’t take long for him to calm down a bit. And once he was a bit calmer, his stupid Robin training kicked in and had him reviewing recent events to see what he did wrong and how he could improve. And once he started doing that, he got upset all over again and landed so he could properly berate himself without worrying about falling to his death. Not that dying seemed to mean anything when it came to him.

_Don’t think about that right now. Let’s open one can of worms at a time._

He shouldn’t have run off like that. He shouldn’t have let himself get that mad in the first place. He was the one that brought up the whole killing people thing. He knew how Bruce would react. Why get upset over it? Was his subconscious actively trying to screw up their relationship? Maybe. He didn’t know. That was the whole point of the subconscious. If you knew what it was doing, it wasn’t doing it right.

Maybe it was better this way. Better to leave things on a sour note so Bruce didn’t try again. Jason couldn’t in good conscience let people who only made the world a worse place live, and Bruce couldn’t in good conscience accept somebody who killed as his son. Neither of them was going to compromise on that. They were both too stubborn. It was better for both of them to give up. Move on. Bruce had other sons. And Jason had… he had…

Jason had nobody. He was too bad for the good guys, too good for the bad guys, and too dangerous for anybody resembling normal. The closest thing he had to a friend was the thing in the White Hot Room, and Jesus fucking Christ that was one of the saddest thoughts he’d ever had.

That was fine. It was fine. He was used to being alone. Alone was safe. Back when he was on the streets, being alone was a comforting thing.

So when did it get so… lonely?

Before he could realize what an awful idea it was, he pulled out his phone and sent Dick a text. _Sorry. Need time to cool off. Thanks for not trying to arrest me._

He threw the phone aside as soon as he hit send and lay back on the ground, laying an arm across his face to shield his eyes from the light seeping through his eyelids. At the moment, he could just about think clearly enough to know that he wasn’t thinking clearly enough to slam any metaphorical doors shut with any certainty that he wouldn’t regret it later. Better to at least slip a message in the crack to keep it open, at least a little bit, just in case a miracle happened.

He couldn’t think clearly, so he tried not to think at all. He just focused on his breathing – slow, in through the nose, wait, exhale through the mouth, in and out, in and out – and the warmth of the sun soaking into his skin – his internal temperature was stable, but the surface-level could still fluctuate a little – and the quiet sounds of nature all around him – the wind in the leaves, the buzzing insects, the distant birdsong. It was relaxing. It wouldn’t last, he knew. Reality would come crashing back down on him soon enough. But for now, he was relaxed, and the world could wait its damn turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this chapter to be so angsty when I started writing it. It just kind of happened. I swear there's actual plot coming soon. Maybe not next chapter, but soon.


	15. Two Lost Sons for the Price of One

Three days, several hundred miles of hitchhiking, and two completely justified murders later, Jason was feeling a bit calmer. He was not, however, calm enough to see that Dick had sent him a text without wanting to smash his phone. He didn’t actually do it, but it was a close thing. He had to spend a whole five minutes seething in a gas station bathroom before he could bring himself to actually look at the text.

_fam emrgncy plz call_

Jason found himself instinctively hitting the call button. If the fact that Dick was reaching out to _him_ didn’t show this was an actual emergency, then the horrifying lack of proper capitalization, spelling, and punctuation did. Or maybe that was just how Dick texted. He did grow up in the age when you had to press a button three times just to get the letter c, after all.

Jason didn’t have time to change his mind before Dick picked up. “Oh, thank God,” Dick said, so breathily it sounded like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Somebody better be dying, Dickface,” Jason growled.

“Well, I feel like I might have a heart attack. Does that count?” The hysterical tone of voice implied that it wasn’t much of a hyperbole.

In fact, it was so hysterical that it was getting to Jason, making the bathroom walls feel far more claustrophobic than they had a minute ago. He quickly got out, then walked out of the store to pace outside. “All right. What’s up?”

“Uh… well… congratulations! We’ve got a new brother.”

Jason stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course we fucking do. Let me guess, another orphan that just so happens to have black hair and blue eyes?” He’d swear Bruce did that on purpose if he hadn’t seen his memories.

“He’s not an orphan. He’s Bruce’s bio kid.”

That was a little harder for Jason to wrap his mind around, but hardly impossible. Brucie Wayne had maintain his playboy reputation somehow. Still, he couldn’t help but laugh. “After all those times he lectured me on using protection… Who’s the mom?”

Dick hesitated, which set off all sorts of alarm bells for Jason, before growling, “Talia.”

The final piece of a puzzle Jason hadn’t even known he was trying to solve clicked into place. His voice sounded too far away from his own ears as he asked, “Is his name Damian?”

“Yes. How did you –“

“Give me a second.” Jason stuck the phone in his pocket, ducked behind the gas station’s dumpster, and found a rock to take his anger out on while he thought things through.

How did he not see this coming? He knew Bruce and Talia had A Thing. He knew that Talia was weirdly attached to a child the right age to fit that timeline. He knew that she’d discovered her own weird brand of maternal instincts. How the fuck had he not put it together? Had he just been in denial because he hadn’t wanted to believe she’d keep such a hurtful secret? It was _Talia._ Even on the off-chance she wouldn’t do something like that of her volition, she’d definitely do it on Ra’s’ orders. He’d never risk having his long-sought perfect male heir stolen from him. And Bruce would have gone far past the ends of the Earth to find his child if he’d known.

When the rock was a shattered, molten mess, he let it drop back to the ground and pulled his phone back out. “All right. You were saying?”

“Did you know about this?” Dick half-asked, half-accused.

“I… would have, if I’d bothered looking harder.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Jason?” Dick sounded like he might just burst into tears out of mixed frustration, panic, and stress.

“No, I didn’t know. If I had –“ _If I had, I never would have left the League without him._ One can of worms at a time. Dick might actually have that heart attack if Jason sprung that on him. “If I had, I would’ve told you.”

“All right,” said Dick, in a tone suggesting it wasn’t actually all right but he didn’t have the time or energy to get into it right now. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you mind coming back to Gotham? Just for a little while to help keep an eye on him until he… settles.”

Jason opened his mouth to ask why they needed his help to babysit a ten-year-old, then remembered that this was a ten-year-old raised by the League of Assassins as their precious, glorious heir. They’d need all hands on deck to keep him from trying to decapitate everyone that looked at him funny. And since this was Gotham, there’d be a lot of people looking at him funny.

He couldn’t just immediately give in and agree, though. He had a reputation to maintain. “You’re asking _me_ to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone?” he asked.

“I…” Dick sighed. “Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds like a bad idea. Think of it more as… making sure he doesn’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it, and making sure he doesn’t _get_ hurt taking on someone he can’t handle.”

“Isn’t getting hurt taking on someone you can’t handle a family tradition at this point?”

“Jason,” Dick groaned. Jason got the distinct feeling he was giving him a headache, or at least worsening the one he already had. “Just… please. We need you.”

Jason pretended to think it over for a few seconds. “Fine, so long as Bruce reimburses my flight.”

It was easy to book a flight (first class, Bruce was paying) and get an Uber to the airport. Getting his weapons past security was a little trickier, but nothing a few bribes and telepathic nudges couldn’t handle. The plane ride itself was quite pleasant, at least during the moments he was able to focus on his book and not the veritable shitstorm no doubt awaiting him.

The shitstorm made itself known the instant he turned his phone back on and saw a metric fuckton of messages from Dick panicking about Damian being missing. Jason sighed and found the nearest suitable dark alley to change into his Phoenix gear. The helmet was back in one piece just the way he remembered it, thanks to some experimental telekinetic repairs. It nearly sent him to the White Hot Room, but it worked, so he wasn’t going to think too hard on the implications of being able to pull the necessary materials from literal thin air.

He stuck his bag in a hiding place that would scream ‘This is meant for a drug deal, take it and you’ll get shot’ and grappled to the nearest rooftop to get his bearings. The Gotham skyline was a lot easier for him to deal with when he was scanning it for places an Assassin-trained ten-year-old would go. It was a pretty easy mindset to get into, considering he was trained by the exact same person and had very clear memories of being an angry, independent ten-year-old convinced he was better off on his own. That did _not_ go well for him, and it wouldn’t go well for Damian, either.

He was quickly able to deduce the most likely path for Damian to have taken through the city and started following it, trusting that his knowledge of the city would allow him to catch up. It took a while, especially because he couldn’t stop himself from intervening in a few nasty situations he spotted along the way, but eventually he spotted a small, dark figure standing on the next roof, surveying his surroundings.

Jason made sure to land audibly. The small, dark figure whirled around, drawing a sword. He was wearing a dark mask/scarf/whatever over the lower half of his face, but the bright blue eyes glaring at him were so undeniably Bruce’s that there was no doubt who Jason was dealing with.

Damian knew who he was dealing with, too. “Todd,” he said, lowering his sword.

That was not the behavior of somebody dealing with a stranger they knew next to nothing about. Talia must have told him Jason wasn’t a threat. Or, at least, not one to him. Or, at least, not an intentional one. “No names in the field,” he scolded with a smirk.

Damian tutted. “What does it matter? I was under the impression you are legally dead.” His accent was impressively American, though he did seem to be overcompensating slightly on the r’s. Probably got taught ‘proper’ English first, then the American version.

“It’s a bad habit, and you’ll have to break it if you want to go on patrol.”

“I’m already on patrol. A patrol _you_ are interrupting.”

“Running off on your own doesn’t count as patrol. Trust me. I’ve got B’s lecture on it practically memorized.”

“It didn’t count when _you_ did it. I’m different.” He sheathed his sword and turned back to try and find his next target, whether it be a location or a person. “Once Father sees my capabilities, he will see that I will make a far superior Robin and grant me my rightful place.”

The thought of the Replacement getting replaced was amusing, until Jason remembered it had already happened, and how that turned out. “Well, you’re definitely superior at the ‘disobeying Batman’ part of being Robin. I at least waited until I was actually in the tights to start doing that.”

Sure enough, Damian gave the smallest of uncomfortable squirms. Jason figured that appealing to any sense of self-preservation wouldn’t work, but he knew that obedience was just as important in the League of Assassins as being able to kill people. Not showing weakness was also important, so Jason was ready when Damian snarled, “Forgive me for not wanting advice from a failure that got killed by a deranged clown.”

Ready as he was, Jason still felt his heartbeat spike at the thought of the Joker, which was ridiculous, because he was dead, gone, would never hurt anyone again, had been for nearly a year now, why couldn’t he – No. He wasn’t thinking about that. He was never, ever thinking about _him_ again. “Yeah, and that happened because I ignored Batman and ran off on my own in a stupid attempt to please my birth mom.”

Damian looked back at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Jason sauntered closer. “They left that part out, huh? Figures. Not as good of a cautionary tale if I had a good reason.”

“You literally just said it was a stupid reason.”

“So, you agree?”

It took Damian a second to figure out what he meant, but when he did, what little Jason could see of his face hardened with fury and he drew his sword again. “How dare you speak of Mother in such a way after everything she’s done for you!”

“I talk about everyone that way, don’t take it personally.” Jason paused. “Well, everyone except Alfred.”

Damian let out what was clearly meant to be a menacing growl, but his vocal cords just couldn’t pull it off. “It is a miracle that nobody’s cut your insolent tongue out yet.”

“Call it cultural differences. People around here prefer to shut you up with a bullet to the head.” Jason’s hand twitched to reach up and rub where he’d experienced that himself, but he had enough presence of mind to stop it at a twitch. Damian might take any sudden movements as an invitation to attack.

“Guns are a crutch used by the weak,” Damian scoffed, looking disapprovingly at the gun on Jason’s hip.

Jason shrugged. “It’s a pretty damn powerful crutch.”

“Your powers are the most powerful crutch you’d ever need. Why use guns?” Damian asked. Jason got the feeling there was some genuine curiosity beneath all the bluster.

“To piss Batman off,” Jason said honestly.

Damian shook his head and muttered something in Arabic, too quick and quiet for Jason to make out. It _probably_ wasn’t a swear, but it _definitely_ wasn’t anything nice, judging by the tone. Then, in English and rather sullenly, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Satisfying my curiosity, I guess. I wanted to see how messed up a kid like you would be, and you’re going above and beyond expectations.”

Damian looked confused again. “Did Mother not tell you of me?”

“Not a word. Why would she?”

“Because…” Damian was clearly caught off guard. Those big blue eyes were actually kind of adorable when they weren’t narrowed by a scowl. “Because she told me so much about you. I assumed…” Apparently he couldn’t think of the right way to phrase it in English, because he switched to Arabic. “I assumed she did the same with you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow beneath his helmet. He hoped Damian’s training was far enough along for him to pick up on the body language. “Talia talked about me? I find that kind of hard to believe.”

Damian sheathed his sword again so he could cross his arms across his chest. “It wasn’t as if she gushed or anything,” he said. His tone was weirdly defensive, which made Jason think there _had_ been something akin to gushing, and Damian was jealous about her praising somebody other than him. “Most of it was her venting her frustrations about your appalling behavior.”

“That sounds more like her.”

Damian looked up at the moon thoughtfully. “Perhaps she didn’t speak of me because I gave her nothing to complain about?”

“Kid, I’ve known you for less than five minutes, and I’ve already got _lots_ to complain about.”

Damian glared at him. “As if your opinion counts for anything.”

“If it doesn’t, then why are you still talking to me?”

Damian turned away and pulled out a grappling hook. “Fine. I’ll –“ He let out a _very_ undignified squawk as it went flying out of his hand and into Jason’s.

“No can do, bud,” he said, faux apologetically. “You’re going to give somebody back home a heart attack if you stay missing any longer, and there’s a chance it might be someone I actually like.”

Damian tried pulling his sword out again, but wouldn’t you know, it was almost as if some unseen force was keeping it snugly in its sheath. While he was distracted by his struggle, Jason closed the distance between them and grabbed him.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Damian demanded as Jason slung him over his shoulder.

Jason ignored him in favor of pulling out his phone and erecting an almost skin-tight shield around his body to protect himself from Damian’s violent attempts to escape. Dick picked up on the first ring. “Found him,” said Jason, maybe a little smugly, holding his phone at a slight angle so that Damian’s various threats and insults were audible.

A rush of static came over the line that Jason interpreted as a loud sigh of relief. “Thank you,” said Dick. “Where are you?”

Jason glanced around to make sure he hadn’t accidentally teleported (you never knew, with powers that loved surprising you as much as his seemed to) and rattled off the address.

“Okay. I’ll meet up with you at –“

Dick was interrupted by the ear-splitting sound of a gunshot. Jason dropped his phone and reached for his gun… the gun that Damian had managed to reach, slip out of its holster, and pull the trigger of. Jason couldn’t hear himself swear over the ringing in his ears, but he could telekinetically pull the gun out of Damian’s grip.

“What the fuck, Damian?” Ah, good, his hearing was coming back.

“I wasn’t aiming anywhere vital!” Damian claimed. “I simply wished for you to unhand me!”

Jason shoved the gun back in its holster and picked up the phone. “We’re fine. He’s just being a brat.”

“That sounded like more than just being a brat,” said Dick, slightly hysterically.

“A brat with a grudge and a gun,” Jason amended.

“Why does he have a gun?!”

“Well, he doesn’t have it _now_. And I already had a shield up, so it didn’t do anything.”

Dick made a weird noise that might have been a barely-swallowed scream of frustration. Once that was over, he said, “On second thought, how about _you_ bring him back to the cave.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest. Then he realized that it would take a literal miracle for somebody without superpowers to drag an unwilling Damian all the way back to the manor. So, instead, he said, “Could you at least get me a car or something?”

“Can’t you fly?”

“Yeah, but I usually end up on fire, and cool as it looks, I doubt it’d be very nice for passengers.”

Damian took a break from his increasingly incoherent threats to say, “You _still_ can't control your pyrokinesis?”

“Shut up,” Jason hissed at him and away from the phone.

“Maybe,” said Dick, either unaware of their interaction or ignoring it. “I’ll make some calls. In the meantime, could you start walking back?”

“Do you mean walk walk, or Bat walk?”

Dick paused, presumably imagining how the general populace would react to the sight of Phoenix walking down the street with a weird ninja child that was clearly not happy with the arrangement. “Bat walk. Talk to you soon.”

As soon as Jason put the phone away, Damian said, “I refuse to be lugged about like a backpack by somebody who could burst into flame at any moment.”

“Fine.” Jason dropped him, and it was a testament to his training that he managed to land on his feet. “Go ahead. Try to run. I dare you.”

Damian clearly considered it for a moment. Thankfully, he was smart enough to realize that running away from somebody who could track him down telepathically and neutralize any attacks telekinetically was a bad idea, and simply glared at him.

“Good. While you’re making good decisions, how about you don’t tell anyone else about my time with Talia?”

“I am not feeling particularly charitable towards you at the moment,” Damian grumbled.

It was _very_ tempting to look in his mind to find a weakness to exploit. It would also very much feel like cheating, so Jason didn’t. He carefully watched Damian’s expression (or, at least, what he could see of it) and went over everything he’d learned about him thus far. Eventually, he came up with a hypothesis. “Think of it this way,” he said. “If they find out, they’ll freak out about it and pay attention to me instead of you.”

Damian scoffed. “I hardly think their attention would be so swiftly shifted.”

“Under normal circumstances, probably, but I died a couple days ago, so I like to think I’m pretty high up on their list of things to worry about.”

Damian stared at him for a moment. “That is a joke, correct?”

“Sure, the same way my entire life is a joke.” That did nothing to alleviate Damian’s obvious confusion. Apparently, he hadn’t come across that phrase yet. “It’s a long story, okay? We should get moving.” He set off in the general direction of the manor.

Damian scurried after him. “You died _again?_ How?”

Jason waited until they were both safely on the next roof to answer. “Got cocky. Got shot. Woke up.” Another roof. “Not actually a long story, I guess.”

It was difficult to tell how much of the tension in Damian’s face and body language was from exertion and how much from frustration. “That was not a story. That was barely a summary.”

“If I tell you, will you not tell anyone about me and Talia?”

Damian mulled it over for a few roofs. “For now.”

Jason rolled his eyes and, between all the gasps and grunts that came from grappling and jumping across a city, recounted the events as best he could. It was a dry retelling that would have disappointed his English teachers, but the purpose wasn’t to entertain. The purpose was to have a bargaining chip, and give Damian something to focus on other than plans to escape and go kill people.

When Jason was finished, Damian declared, “You are an idiot. What did you think would happen when you waltzed into the enemy’s stronghold?”

“That I’d waltz back out. Which I did.”

“Nightwing carried your unconscious body out. Were it not for your apparent inability stay dead, that would have been a very disappointing end for one of Father’s pupils.”

“Were it not for my inability stay dead, I’d still be six feet under.”

Damian opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Jason’s phone ringing. Jason pulled it out with one hand and used the other to grab Damian by the collar. “Don’t think about it,” he warned as he checked the number. He didn’t recognize it. He accepted the call, fully prepared to hang up again at the first sign he was dealing with a telemarketer. “Hello?”

“Is this Phoenix?” The voice was female, relatively young-sounding, with an accent from the bad part of town. Well, everywhere in Gotham was bad, but the accent was definitely from one of the parts where the bad was out on full display and not hidden behind money.

“No, this is Patrick,” he said, partly because he wasn’t giving his identity to everyone who got his number, partly just to be a smartass.

“Ah, a man of culture, I see. I’m Spoiler. Nightwing says you and the newest addition to the collection need a ride. Where are you?”

Jason racked his brain for any memory of a vigilante named Spoiler, but the best he could come up with was that the name wasn’t _totally_ unfamiliar. It would have to do. Besides, if you couldn’t trust somebody who knew her Spongebob memes, who could you trust? He looked down at the nearest street sign and rattled off the location.

“All right, I’ll be there in two minutes. If you’ve got blood on you, wipe it off. I just got my car vacuumed.” She hung up just to make sure she got the last word in. Jason could respect that.

He put the phone away and released Damian. “Any idea who Spoiler is?” he asked.

Damian straightened his shirt/tunic/whatever and smirked evilly. “Yes.”

Jason sighed internally. “Are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

Of course not. Jason would just have to wait and see. Fine. “Well, whoever she is, her ETA’s two minutes.”

Damian’s eyes became what could only be described as calculatingly pitiful. “Are you sure you –“

Jason didn’t let him finish. “You don’t get to pull that puppy dog eye shit after you tried to shoot me. You’re going back to the manor. Just be glad we’ve got a ride and I’m not dragging you the whole way.”

Damian stalked away to the corner of the roof to sulk in silence. Jason kept a careful eye on him in case he got any more ideas until a car horn blared from the street. Jason placed an invisible barrier around Damian and went to the edge to see a dark mass of purple with blonde hair leaning out the window of a beat-up sedan and waving up at him. He waved back and turned around to see Damian hunched over clutching at his head.

“What part of ‘I can create force fields’ is so difficult to understand?” Jason sighed. “Come on, our ride’s here.” He let the barrier fall and jumped down to the ground, trusting that Damian would follow.

Spoiler looked him up and down – mostly up. “Holy shit, you got tall! I thought Robin was exaggerating. You were so little and cute in all the pictures.”

Jason was very glad that Damian only then jumped down and didn’t get to hear that. “Yeah, well, nothing like dying to kick malnutrition to the curb,” he said, before going around the front of the car to sit in the passenger seat. Once he was there, he turned to glare at Damian until he begrudgingly climbed into the back.

Spoiler turned around in her seat to look at him. “Hey. I’m Spoiler. Nice to meet you.”

Damian ignored her, aside from a disdainful scoff.

She turned back to Jason. “Am I going to get in trouble if I swear at him?”

“Technically no, but Alfred will be disappointed in you.”

Spoiler shuddered and started up the car. “All right, PG it is.”

Jason erected another barrier around Damian while Spoiler started driving. Once it became clear that nobody else felt like/knew how to start a conversation, and the silence began to feel a little awkward, Jason spoke up. “So, who exactly are you?”

Spoiler sighed the sigh of the perennially overlooked. “Right. I guess we’ve never been working at the same time. My Dad decided to become a Riddler knock-off, so I decided to become a Robin knock-off to stop him, met the real Robin, became the real Robin for a little while, faked my death, spent a while working on my tan, and now I’m back to fighting crime and getting ready for college.”

As far as hero backstories went, it was hardly the most convoluted Jason had heard (definitely less convoluted than the one he’d lived), but it still took him about a solid minute to process it all. “Wait, so Black Mask didn’t actually kill you?” Figures he’d gotten so upset and eager for vengeance over somebody that wasn’t even dead.

Spoiler’s fingers clenched around the steering wheel. “Not for lack of trying.”

Right. Sore subject. Jason understood that far too well. “Well… good, I guess. I’ve kind of got a monopoly on the whole ‘dead Robin’ thing.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still the only one with a creepy memorial.” Her tone was obviously meant to be joking, but there was a touch of bitterness there.

The tension felt a little suffocating, so Jason pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair to alleviate the worst of the helmet hair. “Figures B doesn’t even have to be around to ruin the mood.”

Spoiler glanced at him and burst into giggles. “You seriously wear a mask under the helmet?”

Jason smirked. “Old habits die hard. Just like Robins.”

As she focused on driving and quelling her laughter, Damian piped up. “How much longer do I have to listen to your inane blabbering?”

Spoiler shot Jason a look like he was a camera in _The Office._ “I see he got his dad’s charm.”

“I am _very_ charming!” Damian claimed. “When I’m not dealing with fools, that is.”

“And his mom’s respect for others,” Jason muttered to himself.

“We’re, like, five minutes away,” said Spoiler. “Now shut up, or I’ll show you some _real_ inane blabbering. You ever see _Gossip Girl_ , Phoenix?”

Jason grinned evilly. “No, but please, tell me about it in exhaustive detail.”

Damian covered his ears and started humming loudly.

Spoiler snickered. “I don’t actually watch that show. I was just gonna make up some bullshit.”

“Now that, I _would_ actually like to hear.”

So, they spent the rest of the car ride coming up with the most ludicrously stupid and melodramatic plot twists a teen drama could throw at its audience. They were reaching superhero backstory levels of bizarreness when they finally reached the blast doors of the Batcave.

Spoiler pulled out her phone to let Batman or Alfred or Dick or whoever was in there know that they were there. Jason turned back and snapped his fingers in the still humming Damian’s face. Once he’d pulled his hands away from his ears, Jason said, “You complain about us being inane, but you’re humming _Cats?_ ”

What little he could see of Damian’s face went a furious and embarrassed red. “It was on the radio and burrowed itself into my mind like a parasite.”

“It’s called an ear worm. Andrew Lloyd Webber is very good at them.” Jason’s Drama class once went on a trip to see _Phantom_ on Broadway. The following weeks of constant tone-deaf reprises were more than enough to ruin his opinion of the musical forever.

“All right, we get it, you’re both musical snobs,” said Spoiler, putting her phone away. “Save it for later. Damian’s going to be very busy getting yelled at for a while.”

As soon as the doors slid open enough to permit, she drove into the Batcave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a (mostly) happy chapter to brighten up your quarantine. Stay safe, wash your hands, and remember that antibacterial stuff won't help against a virus.


	16. Family Dinner

Seeing the Batcave again brought so many memories so strongly to Jason’s mind that he might have actually time travelled for a second. The same tall, craggy, bat-infested ceiling, the same giant penny and model dinosaur, and… the same distinctive, tiny uniform, erected in a glass case right where anybody coming in or out of the cave would have no choice but to notice.

That did a good job of shattering the illusion and dragging him across the shards back to reality. He quickly averted his gaze and put his helmet back on. No way he was letting a near-stranger like Spoiler and a brat like Damian see whatever expression was on his face. Maybe he could sneak out and not let anybody see his face at all. That seemed like a good idea.

Spoiler parked in the spot usually reserved for the Batmobile and jumped out to skip toward the manor entrance. “They’re here, Alfred! Mind if I grab some snacks for my trouble?”

Jason closed his eyes and took some deep breaths as Alfred’s voice rang out. “So long as you get changed first, Miss Stephanie. No masks outside the cave.”

Spoiler – Stephanie groaned, and the sound of her footsteps changed course toward the lockers that always had some spare clothes for situations exactly like this.

From the back seat, Damian let out a frustrated growl. “Todd, release me.”

Oh, shit, right. The field. Jason let it fall without opening his eyes. The door immediately slammed open and shut, and Damian’s stomping was as heavy as his little body could manage. It stopped in its tracks when Alfred said, with all the considerable disapproval he could muster, “Master Damian, you shall remain here until your father returns so he may speak with you about your behavior.”

Damian’s only response was a grunt, followed by more stomping and the faint squeak of a chair being sat on. Jason’s mission was complete. Damian was back home, safe and sound and not covered in the blood of the innocent. Nobody could get mad at Jason for leaving now, right? He eyed the steering wheel and considered hotwiring the car or stealing Stephanie’s keys to make his escape, but that would be a serious dick move and she seemed nice. An on-foot exit, then. He opened the car door and stepped out as quietly as he could. His step was silent, but the hinge on the door was definitely not, emitting a loud squeak that screamed both ‘Attention, everyone in the vicinity, I have just been opened’ and ‘Please take this car to the shop’.

Alfred came into view, a bit balder and more wrinkled than Jason remembered, but with the same small, warm smile as ever. “Welcome home, Master Jason. Will you be staying for dinner?”

It was amazing how a prospect could be so appealing and so terrifying at the same time. On the one hand, his mouth was already watering at the thought of Alfred’s food, and it might be fun to bully Damian some more and watch Alfred lecture Dick on his table manners. On the other hand, Bruce would be there. Damian was probably going to bear the brunt of his ire, but that just meant Jason would feel even more out of place and unneeded.

The tipping point came when a motorcycle roared into the cave, carrying the Replacement. He came to a stop and spotted the car. His face lit up almost painfully bright. “Oh, Steph’s here! I’ll –“ Then he noticed Jason. The flinch was small, nearly unnoticeable, probably subconscious, but it was there.

“Maybe some other time,” said Jason, turning to leave through one of the ‘secret’ side-tunnels.

He didn’t hear Damian move, so when he felt a hand grab at his arm his fingers instinctively curled into a fist and moved to punch before he realized how small the hand was, and saw those bright blue eyes glaring up at him. He’d taken off the mask/scarf/whatever, revealing a downright uncanny resemblance to the old pictures of Bruce Alfred used to show Jason when he was feeling particularly passive-aggressive toward his employer. He could’ve passed as a clone, were it not for his darker complexion and a few of Talia’s features unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know her very well.

“You are not allowed to leave,” Damian declared. “If I must suffer through this, so must you.”

Jason yanked his arm free. “I’m an adult, so legally speaking, no, I don’t.”

“Legally speaking, you’re dead, so the law is irrelevant. As it always is.”

The Replacement walked past them, typing something into his phone and muttering just loud enough for them to hear, “Reason number seventeen: Blatant disregard for the law.”

Damian spun around to glare at him. “Reason seventeen of what, Drake?”

“Oh, nothing,” the Replacement said with a truly villainous smirk as he vanished into the changing area.

Jason grabbed Damian by the shoulder before he could chase after him. “Why do you care if I leave? You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t exactly appreciate my presence.”

“I –“ Damian glanced at Alfred, then back at Jason with an even deeper scowl. “Never mind. Begone, fool.” He went back to the chair and spun around to glare at the wall.

Jason looked at Alfred, who was a subdued reflection of his own confusion. “What was that about?” he asked.

Alfred looked between Jason and Damian thoughtfully. “Perhaps he sees a kindred spirit in you. You were not so different when you first arrived.”

Jason opened his mouth to argue, then remembered exactly how he’d acted those first few weeks. He’d definitely said and done a lot of stuff he regretted in hindsight, before he realized Bruce and Alfred genuinely wanted to help him and there wasn’t another shoe about to drop and crush what little hope he had left. He’d been scared. Damian was probably scared, too, being sent away from everything he’d ever known to live with strangers in a strange country.

Still… “I wasn’t _that_ much of a brat,” Jason muttered.

“You were difficult in different ways,” Alfred said mildly. “To be frank, you are still quite difficult in many ways. Are you _certain_ you do not wish to stay for dinner?”

Jason shifted uncomfortably. Even with the helmet, Alfred would be able to tell he was lying if he tried saying no. But he wasn’t _certain_ that he wanted to stay, either. He’d probably regret it either way… When he thought about it that way, he might as well choose the option that made Alfred happy, right?

Step one of Operation: Family Dinner was to make sure Damian didn’t jump out the window and run back to the city the second nobody was watching him. “Fine, whatever,” Jason sighed. “Go… do whatever, I’ll talk to Damian.”

Alfred gave him one of those proud smiles that made him feel disgustingly warm and fuzzy inside and walked away. Jason took a moment to steel himself (and erect another shield in case Damian got any ideas) and approached him, loudly enough to be heard and slowly enough for him to know he wasn’t attacking. He didn’t think Damian would actually think he was attacking him, but the instinctive panic might put a damper on what was already going to be a tough conversation.

Damian ignored him and continued glaring at the wall.

“I’m staying,” said Jason.

Damian shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“Of course you don’t. But if, hypothetically, you did, why would you want me to be here?”

Damian’s glare dropped to the floor, which Jason took as progress. “Not even hypothetically would I care. However, if, hypothetically, another person _did_ care, they might do so because they have questions for you.”

Jason glanced around to make sure nobody was in hearing range. Alfred was working with the Batcomputer, not quite out of range, but Jason trusted him to tune out what he knew to be a private conversation. The Replacement and Stephanie had changed and were having a hushed conversation near the entrance. The Replacement glanced over at him, realized he’d made eye contact, and quickly looked away again. Were they talking about him?

Jason shook himself. It didn’t matter if they were talking about him. The fact that he couldn’t tell meant that they wouldn’t be able to properly hear him and Damian, either. “And what would these questions be, hypothetically?” he asked.

Damian glanced around the exact same way Jason just had. Once he was satisfied, he asked, “Why did you leave?”

Jason was 99% sure he was talking about him leaving the League of Assassins, but he wanted to be sure before he went on a diatribe about the wrong thing. “You’ll have to be more specific. I leave a lot.”

“Why did you leave Mother?”

Okay. A slightly different angle than expected, but still mostly expected and prepared for. “Your Grandpa got tired of my shit,” Jason said simply. “It was either run away, do as I was told, or die. I’m not very good at the latter two options, so I left.”

Damian mulled his answer over for a few moments. “Hypothetically, there was a fourth option. You could have killed him. Hypothetically,” he clarified, eyes darting around as if worried an Assassin would materialize and punish him for such horrible treason.

In hindsight, he probably should have gone for that fourth option. At the time, though… “I wasn’t as strong back then, and I’m sure Ra’s would’ve had something nasty up his sleeve. Besides, I…” He sighed and mustered the will needed to force the next words out. “I _did_ owe Talia, and killing her dad wouldn’t be much of a repayment.”

Damian glanced at him in surprise before regaining his composure and returning his attention to the floor. “So you _do_ know something of gratitude.”

“I see Talia painted quite the flattering portrait of me,” Jason drawled sarcastically.

“I see that it was an accurate one.”

Stephanie’s voice rang out before Jason could make a rebuttal. “Hey, Jason, do you want to talk to Tim?”

Jason had thought of him solely as the Replacement so much that it took him a moment to remember he had an actual name. Said Replacement was now looking very embarrassed. Jason surmised that they must have been discussing whether or not he should try talking with Jason, and Stephanie decided to simplify matters.

It wasn’t that Jason… Okay, no, he didn’t want to talk to the Replacement. Their last talk hadn’t exactly gone well, and tensions were high enough with Damian around, especially if he felt slighted by Jason ending their conversation in favor of another. “Not right now,” Jason shouted to her.

Stephanie gave the Replacement a ‘see, was that so hard?’ look before replying, “Okay. See you later!” She grabbed the Replacement’s hand – which he seemed rather surprised by – and practically dragged him out of the cave.

Jason turned back to Damian. “All right. Any other questions?”

“You said you’ve gotten stronger. How strong, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said honestly. “I’ve succeeded at everything I’ve tried, but I’ve never really tested it out.”

“Why not? Do you not want to know the extent of your abilities?”

Jason thought of the White Hot Room, and what had been left of Grodd’s mind, and the charred, melted remnants of Amusement Mile he’d seen on the news. “No. I really don’t.”

That flummoxed Damian into silence long enough for the familiar roar of the Batmobile’s engine to echo through the cave. If Jason wanted to run, now was the time, and a very large part of him did want to run. But that would upset Damian, who’d probably deal with it by trying to stab someone at dinner, and disappoint Alfred, who was now shooting him as polite and gentle a warning look as possible. So, Jason steeled himself and fixed his gaze on the wall as he heard the Batmobile come to a stop.

As soon as the engine died, a door slammed open and shut. “Where is –“ Batman stopped mid-sentence. “Jason.”

Jason grudgingly looked over at him. Batman looked surprised, or at least as surprised as he could look. It was like putting on the cowl immediately cut his ability to emote in half. Nightwing had no such inhibitions, and was frozen halfway through getting out of the passenger seat, agog and aghast. Jason gave them a half-hearted wave.

“Master Jason will be staying for dinner,” Alfred stated. Not asked. “Miss Stephanie will be joining us, as well.”

Dick put on a bright, brittle, 25% fake smile. “Great! It’s too bad Cass isn’t here. Then we’d have the whole family together.”

“Great,” Jason muttered, looking back at the wall. Doing so allowed him to see, in the corner of his eye, Damian trying to use the distraction to escape. Jason grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back before he could get any further. “First, though, this brat needs a lecture on not shooting his brothers.”

Batman’s expression hardened into a very familiar one. Seeing it again had Jason automatically tensing and preparing for a lecture. Then he remembered that he wasn’t the one being lectured, for once, and stepped to the side to enjoy the show.

“You did what?” Batman ground out.

“I wasn’t aiming anywhere vital!” Damian argued. “And he stopped the bullet anyway, so it doesn’t matter. You should be lecturing him on not lugging his ‘brothers’ about like sacks of potatoes.”

“Jason is as much my son as you are,” said Batman, in a flat tone that suggested he was repeating something for the umpteenth time. It was also a casual tone, as if Jason being his son was just a fact of life that everybody knew, which made all of Jason’s insides do happy gymnastics. It was awful.

Jason was able to hide the happiness, but not the annoyance, it seemed, as Dick gave him one look and said, “Thanks, Jason. You can go help Alfred get everything ready.”

Before he could make some retort on not having to do what Dick said, Damian turned to him and snarled, “Don’t you dare.”

“Or what?” Jason asked smugly.

“Or I tell them.”

“Tell them wh –“ Oh. The fucking snot-nosed little… “We had a deal.”

Now it was Damian’s turn to be smug. “As a minor, I am legally incapable of making binding agreements without a guardian’s consent.”

“Fine.” Jason grabbed a chair and leaned back, as close to a picture of relaxation as he could manage. “I’ll stay to watch the show, but I’m not helping you.”

Batman obviously wanted to ask what they were talking about, but realized that asking would only make them a united front, which would make successfully lecturing Damian all the harder.

And lecture him Batman did. Alfred left about a minute in, either to get dinner ready or to deal with any mischief Stephanie and the Replacement were getting up to. Dick slipped away a minute later, once it became clear that Batman needed no help, though not without a look at Jason that said ‘Make sure he doesn’t go too far’. Which meant Jason was stuck there. He vividly remembered several times that Batman went too far in his lecture and threw Jason into an existential crisis wondering if he deserved to be there at all if he’d disappointed Bruce so much. Damian seemed made of tougher stuff, dependence-wise (or maybe his need for validation was just directed at his mom), but Jason would still feel bad about abandoning him to Batman’s paranoid, guilty, maladjusted mercy.

Jason didn’t enjoy it as much as he thought he would. It was so similar to the lectures he’d gotten as Robin that part of him refused to believe it wasn’t directed at him. He swore parts of it were literally word-for-word what he’d heard five or so years ago. Maybe Bruce had developed a script with Dick and just kept repeating it with different names. (Usually. Jason remembered accidentally being called Dick _very_ well).

He was able to breathe and relax during the moments Batman deviated from the script to address specifics, usually along the lines of ‘You aren’t with the League of Assassins anymore’ and ‘I don’t know what your mother taught you, but we don’t do things that way around here’. During those moments, Damian always shot glances at Jason, clearly considering breaking their deal and deflecting the lecture onto Jason. Luckily, he always thought better of it, and Batman was so caught up in his anger that he didn’t notice, which really said something about how mad he was.

He was still going strong when Alfred reappeared, wearing an expression that silenced him instantly. “It’s time for dinner,” said Alfred, politely but firmly. “Afterward, I would suggest we all attempt to get a good night’s sleep. You may continue tomorrow morning, should you feel the need.”

“Fine,” Batman growled, as if Alfred’s word wasn’t law. He stormed off to the changing area, cape billowing dramatically behind him.

Damian was still pretty tense, so Jason took pity on him and said, “Don’t worry. Just keep your mouth shut during dinner, and by tomorrow he’ll have cooled off.”

Damian was a little skeptical, but he seemed to trust that Jason knew what he was talking about when it came to Bruce being mad at him and relaxed a little. Jason rose to his feet, pulled off his helmet, mask, and body armour, piled them onto the chair, and went to leave the cave.

“Your weapons, Master Jason,” Alfred chastised.

Jason sighed, went back to the chair, deposited his visible weapons, and tried to leave again.

“All of them, Master Jason.”

Jason sighed louder, went back to the chair, and deposited as few of his hidden weapons as he thought he could get away with.

Damian emerged from the changing area in clothes as obviously new as they were expensive. “Don’t forget the shuriken in your waistband,” he called out to Jason as he walked past Alfred.

Jason glared at him and pulled the shuriken out. He should’ve known not to use the usual Assassin hiding places. Once they were gone, Jason went to leave again. Alfred raised an eyebrow, rightfully unconvinced that he didn’t still have anything on him, but he didn’t say anything.

Bruce’s office hadn’t changed much, either. A couple chairs and the computer had been replaced, the books had been reorganized, and there were new photos of the new kids hung up, but overall, it was too familiar for comfort. Did he still have that photo of him and Jason on his desk? Jason actually took a step to check before he changed his mind and walked out of the room.

Even after all this time, the path to the dining room was tattooed into his muscle memory. Good thing, because walking in the manor again felt so surreal that he wondered if this was all a dream, or a new trick of the White Hot Room, because his brain didn’t feel like it was properly connected to his body. Walking past his old room snapped him out of it for a moment. A panicked moment where he nearly lost his nerve and jumped out the nearest window to get away. He was pulled out of it by the sound of Alfred’s footsteps as he rounded the corner behind him. He took a breath and kept walking.

It was just one meal. It would make Alfred happy. He could do this.

Everyone was already waiting in the dining room. Bruce was in his usual spot at the head of the table, glowering into the distance. Damian sat as far from him as possible, glowering as well. Dick, the Replacement, and Stephanie sat together, chatting. Jason calculated the exact spot that gave him as much distance from everyone as possible and sat down. Alfred vanished into the kitchen and quickly reappeared with food that Jason couldn’t remember the name of (there was probably some French in it, though) but looked and smell delicious.

It was a test of his self-restraint not to immediately inhale the entire meal. His first instinct was always to eat as fast as possible, born from the times when he never knew if somebody would find him and try to steal it from him. Right now, though, the more time he spent eating, the less time he had to spend talking. If he tried talking, he’d probably end up saying the wrong thing and get so overwhelmed he’d punch a hole in the wall and fly into space again. Better to quietly savor the food and listen.

Dick and Stephanie were doing most of the talking, which made sense. Dick never knew when to shut up, even in the middle of a fight, and Stephanie seemed pretty bubbly and outgoing, at least by Bat standards. The Replacement would reply when spoken to, pipe in when he had something interesting/informative to contribute, and made a couple jokes that nearly made Jason exhale in amusement, but he didn’t seem to feel the need to fill the space like Dick and Stephanie. Maybe he was just more introverted, or maybe he wasn’t really comfortable with the presence of the guy that nearly killed him a few months ago and the brat that wanted to replace him. Jason didn’t know him well enough to tell. Alfred was likewise a bit quieter, but Jason knew that was just his usual British stuffiness.

Jason, Bruce, and Damian were an entirely different story, each for different reasons. At least, Jason assumed the other two weren’t worried about starting a fight and setting everything on fire. Damian was taking Jason’s advice, which he was very grateful for, because the expressions he was making suggested he would’ve said something that instantly got him grounded forever, which would just have him acting out more and maybe even trying to go back to Talia. Bruce started out similarly silent and grumpy, but the others managed to wear him down and get him to relax a little.

Jason remembered being able to do that, once upon a time.

Once that thought entered his head, things went downhill. Just for him, though. Everybody else just kept talking and enjoying themselves (except for Damian, whom Jason felt more kinship with by the second). Dick tried to bring him into the conversation a few times, but he gave up once it became clear Jason wasn’t in the mood for anything beyond bland, one-word answers. What started as awkward shifted into something… surreal? No, it wasn’t bizarre. It just felt… unreal. Like he was an observer instead of a participant. If it weren’t for the taste on his tongue, he’d think he was watching the scene unfold on a screen or through a window.

Seeing the family interacting and… just… being a family made it starkly clear that he was no longer part of it. Not really. He had nothing to bring to the table that wasn’t already there. Dick had the stupid jokes, Tim the bright future to brag about to the other billionaires, Stephanie the street knowledge, Cassandra the fighting prowess, and Damian was well on his way to being the resident problem child. What did Jason have to offer, besides worry and powers he could barely control?

“You okay, Jason?” Stephanie asked.

Jason blinked and realized everyone was staring at him. Damn it, he was getting to used to his helmet hiding his expressions. He had to work more on his poker face. “Just zoned out,” he muttered, returning his attention to his plate.

“Are you certain?” said Alfred.

Jason nodded, smooshing some mashed potatoes with his fork and praying this would all be over soon so he could go out and hit people. The others went back to their conversation, albeit a touch less jovial and with a lot more worried glances toward him. He ignored them, focusing instead on silently planning the rest of this little visit. He hadn’t given any thought to what he was going to do after meeting Damian, which was really stupid of him.

Once his food was gone, he listlessly twirled his cutlery around and watched the light reflect off the polished metal. _Finally,_ the veil of willful ignorance was lifted by the scraping of six chairs being pushed back so the people sitting in them could stand. Jason stood and swiftly power-walked out of the room and toward the exit.

He sighed when he heard footsteps following him. There weren’t any rooms this way, so he knew they were only coming to try and talk to him. He considered ignoring it and just leaving now, but if he did that, he’d either have to leave the city immediately or keep dodging the entire family for the rest of his stay. Better to get it over with now.

He turned to see, as he’d suspected from the weight of the footsteps, Bruce, who also stopped. “What?” Jason growled.

Bruce took a moment to consider his words, his face utterly unreadable. “How long are you staying?” he eventually asked.

Jason shrugged. “I dunno.”

Bruce took a deep breath and drew himself up, like he did when he was about to throw himself into a fight he wasn’t sure he’d win. “While you’re here, I don’t want you killing anyone.”

“Here we go,” Jason grumbled, already making plans to take the next flight out of Gotham.

“Just while you’re in my city. Obviously, I’d prefer it if you –“

“Stop talking,” Jason snapped. “You made your point. Don’t ruin it.”

Bruce shut his mouth with an audible _click._ His gaze was an itch on Jason’s skin as he paced across the far too wide hallway, thinking it over. It wasn’t a totally unfair deal, right? It was the same one he’d made with Dick in New York. He just had to get a little creative about making sure certain people got removed from the gene pool. He’d be setting a good example for Damian and all that shit.

He stopped and turned back to Bruce. “On one condition.”

“What is it?” Bruce asked, as if his expression didn’t make it clear that he’d consider any condition worth it.

“Pay for my flight here, and a Switch.”

“Switch?” Bruce repeated.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Nintendo Switch? Game console that’s been out for years and literally everybody not hopelessly out of touch with kids these days knows about?”

Bruce sighed in relief and pulled out his wallet. “Oh, good. I thought you meant a switchblade. How much does it cost?”

“Five hundred,” Jason lied, to see if Bruce really didn’t know what he was talking about. “And my flight was first class.”

Bruce handed him two thousand fucking dollars without even blinking. “Is that enough?”

“Rich people,” Jason muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s fine. See ya.”


	17. The Countdown Begins

Jason kept his promise for approximately seventeen hours, and seven of them were spent sleeping.

Once he woke up, he decided to scope out the city a little. Good news: Black Mask was dead. Everybody seemed to have a different rumor on how exactly it happened, ranging from getting killed by Catwoman to losing a drunken game of Russian roulette, but they all agreed that he was definitely dead, body and half-hearted GCPD investigation and all.

Bad news: Nobody seemed to believe the Joker was really dead. Hell, some people claimed he was the one that killed Black Mask as part of a long, convoluted plan to reclaim his dark, grimy throne. Jason couldn’t blame them. He sometimes had trouble believing he was really gone, and he was the one that killed him.

More bad news: The power vacuum left by both the Joker and Black Mask was considerable. Jason refused to believe that it made things worse than before, but it definitely didn’t make them perfect. Every idiot with a gun and a stupid mask was trying to claim their own slice of the rancid pie that was Gotham. Most of them weren’t very successful, but they also managed to hurt quite a few people in the attempt.

Jason tried to play by the rules, at first. He left his victims cuffed for the police to collect with nothing worse than broken limbs. Then he came across a guy eying the kids at a playground way too intently and decided to stretch the rules a little. Batman didn’t say anything about permanent paralysis, after all. Then he checked in on some of the working girls who’d been under his employ in his crime lord days, saw the shit their new pimps were trying to pull, and decided to stretch the rules a little further. Batman didn’t say anything about vegetative states, either. The only thing that bothered Jason about it was that he didn’t need the White Hot Room’s help to do it this time. Or the next time. Or the time after that.

And then, seventeen hours later, he had a gun in his hand, his mental barriers worn down by all the telepathy he’d been using, terror and grief and impotent rage washing over him from the kids huddling in the corner, and the woman responsible for it all standing in front of him with a smug grin and absolute certainty she’d come out on top, because she was a fucking narcissistic sociopath. So, yeah. He pulled the trigger.

And once he did that, like they said, go big or go home. Or, in this case, go big before you can’t go home again. He had a bit of time before word reached the Bats, and a bit more before they mobilized and came after them. He was going to use that time productively. Productively, in this case, meaning killing as many deserving people as possible.

Twenty-eight minutes and two more deaths later, Jason’s phone started blowing up. He pulled out the SIM card and replaced it with the spare he had prepared for when he’d inevitably have to change numbers. That time was now. He also stole his latest victim’s car, drove back to the motel, and threw his bags in the trunk so he was ready to go the second he had to.

He was able to kill eleven more people before he spotted Batman’s familiar silhouette closing in on him (amazing how even at such a distance he was able to radiate such disappointment) and took it as his cue to exit, pursued by a Bat. He immediately got in the car and peeled out of the city as fast as the traffic allowed, and when that was insufficient as fast as telepathic orders to pull out of the way would allow. He kept driving until Gotham vanished over the horizon.

Once he was in the clear, all the adrenaline rushed out of him at once. He pulled to the side of the road and let himself go limp, head resting on the steering wheel.

“Great job, Jason,” he mumbled to himself. Now that he had some distance from the issue, physically and emotionally, he was starting to feel guilty. Not about killing – they all deserved worse. But he’d broken his promise to Bruce, and Alfred was going to be upset about him not even saying goodbye, and he’d just set the worst possible example for Damian, and he hadn’t even gotten that fucking Switch, and knew he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to use that money, now.

What was wrong with him? Why was it that every time things were going okay, he found some way to fuck it up? Sure, things being okay felt weird and filled him with dread for the inevitable moment it ended, but that didn’t mean he had to end it himself so he felt like he had some control over his life. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just be normal and well-adjusted like the other Robins? They’d all gone through most of the same shit he had, and they were able to keep their cool and not take a flamethrower to all their relationships the second something went wrong.

He distantly registered the acrid smell of burning car components. It didn’t snap him out of it. It just made things worse.

_Why can’t you be more like Dick, Jason? This is why you got replaced. Why couldn’t they have been the ones to get superpowers? They’d be able to control them. They’d be able to save the world with them, not run around killing people that aren’t even a blip on the planetary radar. Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t you have just stayed dead? Everyone would be better off. Nobody needs you. You’re just making everything worse._

He shoved the door open and tumbled out, taking a deep, shuddering breath of what was supposed to be fresh air. Instead it was just smoky. He opened his eyes and saw that the car was now engulfed in flames. Of course. Because everything he fucking touched ended up worse than before. At least he hadn’t left anything he cared about in there.

He knew he should get up and start moving and planning and all that jazz, but he just couldn’t find the energy to do anything more than lie there, cry, wallow in his misery, and berate himself for all of the above.

Eventually, he got interrupted by his phone pinging to let him know he’d received a text message. The panic of wondering if Batman had already tracked him down gave him the energy to pull it out of his pocket and check.

_It’s Babs. What happened?_

Barbara. Okay. That was more manageable. He tugged his glove off and typed a response.

_What do you think happened?_

_I think you’ve got everyone (including me) worried sick that you’ve been possessed by a demon or something._

Jason gave a wet, weak chuckle. Of course they did. Why would they think he’d managed to go from ‘having dinner with the family’ to ‘murderous rampage’ in seventeen hours without any supernatural help?

_The only demons involved are the figurative ones I got rid of. You’re welcome._

Babs took a bit longer to write her next message.

_If I give this number to anyone else, will you just smash your phone?_

_Considering doing it right now._

_We both know I’ll just find the new number. The only question is if you’re okay with anyone else finding it._

Jason ignored the urge to smash the phone just to be contrary. The inconvenience of getting a new phone would be far greater than the inconvenience of Barbara finding his new number.

_I’m not. Stop talking to me._

He turned the phone off, shoved it back in his pocket, and stared up at the sky. The stars were a little brighter than in Gotham, but still nowhere near as bright as they were in space. Maybe he should go back there and float around for a while. Go and see if all those dust clouds and nebulae were as beautiful in person as they were in the photos. Meet some aliens. See if all the Green Lanterns were as bad as Hal Jordan.

He shook himself. _Your powers are unstable enough already. Don’t push it._

He didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do it lying down. He slowly rose to his feet. He couldn’t do anything standing still, either, so he took a step. Then another. Then another.

The world was so much simpler when you broke it down into little pieces like that. Don’t think about what you’re going to do with your life. Just think about the next step. Lift foot, swing foot, drop foot. Over and over again, until he fell into a rhythm. Once that was manageable, he could move onto the next step. Put hand in pocket. Pull out emergency foldable helmet bag. Take off helmet. Put helmet in bag. Wipe tears away. Take off armor. Put it in bag. Take off visible weapons. Put in bag. Sling bag across shoulders.

From there, the next step. Stick thumb out. Keep thumb out until car pulls over. Get in car. Tell driver he didn’t care where he went, so long as it was away from Gotham. Surreptitiously pull out knife when driver unexpectedly pulls to side of road. Act scared when driver pulls out gun. Gauge situation. Find lethal force necessary. Knock gun out of his hand. Stab him in eye to kill instantly. Shove body off. Get out of car. Telekinetically wipe off blood.

Stick thumb out. Keep thumb out until car pulls over. Get in car. Tell driver he didn’t care where he went, so long as it was away from Gotham. Ignore driver’s understanding, pitying look. Wait until they reached a town. Say thank you. Leave car.

By that point, he was feeling considerably more ready to take on life in bigger chunks. Not ready for any long-term plans, but he was able to think of booking a room, getting some food, and later going on patrol all at once without crying. Progress. Yay.

* * *

He fell back into the old routine. Hitchhike, patrol, kill people, leave, rinse and repeat. He didn’t know what else to do.

Babs texted him more, asking if he was ready to talk yet or reminding him that everyone was worried. It was nosy enough to be annoying, but not so much that he told her not to do it anymore. He’d never admit it, but it was kind of nice to have consistent contact with someone. Even if said contact consisted mostly of him texting ‘No’ or ‘Don’t care’.

The routine got shaken up by the text she sent him a few weeks before his birthday.

_Donna needs to talk to you._

It took Jason a full minute to overcome his confusion and reply.

_Isn’t Donna dead?_

_Not anymore. Long story. She just needs you to clear up a misunderstanding._

_What kind of misunderstanding?_

_Something weird’s going on with the Lanterns and we need to confirm you’re not involved._

_1) What does Donna have to do with the Lanterns? 2) What do I have to do with the Lanterns?_

_Her ex is a Lantern. He asked her to ask Dick to ask you to talk to him so he can confirm it’s all a misunderstanding/coincidence. Something about your codename being suspicious._

_That explains jack shit, Babs._

_That’s because I know jack shit, Jay. All I know is that all the Lanterns are freaking out about it and it would make everybody’s lives easier if you played along._

Jason sighed. He was pretty sure she was telling the truth and this wasn’t all an elaborate ploy to lure him into a trap so the Justice League could throw him in prison, but…

_How do I know I can trust you?_

Barbara hesitated, clearly thinking over her answer carefully.

_I don’t think you know how to trust anyone anymore. But if you don’t play along now, the Lanterns are going to find you eventually, and they won’t do it quietly. Do you want that kind of attention?_

No. He didn’t. Not from the Lanterns, not from Deathstroke and his ‘friends’, and _definitely_ not from Batman. If he just said hi to Donna and made it clear he had no idea what the fuck was going on, then nobody else had to know about it.

_Fine. Where is she?_

Barbara sent the address. It was a few states away. That would take days to hitchhike, and it didn’t sound like the Lanterns had that kind of patience. A plane it was, then. Goodbye, Switch fund. He could probably fly there himself, but showing up wreathed in winged flame wouldn’t exactly support the whole ‘I’m an innocent, ordinary bystander who knows nothing of space things’ argument.

Last minute and limited funds meant he ended up in economy class. Not exactly pleasant, but he’d dealt with far worse than a cramped seat and a screaming child a few rows away, especially since he had a book to focus on.

Once he landed, he immediately went to Donna’s place – or, at least, the place she was currently staying at. He raised a hand to knock at the door and froze. What if this _was_ a trap? What if that hadn’t actually been Babs, but some villain who’d stolen her phone? Or what if it wasn’t a trap, but he screwed it up and Donna and her ex decided to try and capture him? What if he hurt her trying to defend himself? Or –

The door opened, revealing a slightly older-looking but still unmistakable Donna Troy. They stared at each other in silent surprise for a few moments. Then Donna smiled and said, “Dick wasn’t exaggerating. You really have grown.”

Jason cleared his throat and spoke before she could try pinching his cheek like an overbearing aunt at a family reunion. “Yeah. I’ve noticed. What’s going on?”

“I’ll let Kyle explain. Come in.” She stood to the side to let him pass through and gestured down the hall toward an archway leading to what looked like a sitting room. Even from here, he could see a faint green glow. He took a deep breath to steel himself, put his domino mask on, and walked in.

Kyle was sitting on the couch in full Green Lantern gear, snacking on some pretzels while drawing in a sketchbook. Not exactly the most impressive first impression, but definitely a comforting one. For Jason, at least. Maybe not for anyone actually depending on his protection.

After a few seconds of Kyle completely failing to notice his target had just walked into the room, Donna said, in a slightly exasperated tone that suggested she was far too used to this sort of thing, “Kyle. He’s here.”

Kyle started, nearly spilling the pretzels. “Oh!” He ensured the safety of the snacks, put the sketchbook down, and rose to hold out a hand. “Jason, right? I’m Kyle.”

Jason eyed his hand suspiciously. “Are you this friendly with all the murderous vigilantes you meet, or am I just special?”

“It never hurts to be polite.”

Jason bit down a retort on how, yes, being polite _can_ get you hurt. Now wasn’t the time. “Look, can we just get this over with? I’ve got no idea what’s going on with you people, or why you think I would.”

Kyle sighed. “Honestly, I don’t totally understand, either. Something about time flowing in all directions and multiversal ripples. The Guardians are worried because they can’t find the Phoenix Force, and they don’t want to leave any stone unturned.”

“What’s the Phoenix Force?” Jason asked.

Kyle seemed downright relieved by his confusion. “The source of all life in the universe. Or maybe the personification. Like I said, I didn’t really get it. Too metaphysical. We thought it was just a coincidence you shared the name, but we’ve got to make sure. Is it okay if I scan you?”

Jason wondered if Kyle was doing this on purpose, throwing so much information at him so he’d get overwhelmed and go along with it. “What kind of scan?”

Kyle activated his ring, creating what did indeed look like a green scanner from a sci-fi movie. “Just checking for suspicious energy readings. You won’t feel a thing.” He pressed a few buttons, causing the scanner to make some weird noises and Jason to, indeed, not feel anything strange. Kyle’s expression darkened somewhat. “Okay, that is a bit higher than usual.”

“What’s higher than usual?” Donna asked, coming around to look at the readings.

“White energy,” said Kyle, still frowning at the scanner. “Y’know, the stuff that makes old TVs go all static-y.”

“You mean cosmic microwave background?” Jason asked. Donna and Kyle looked up at him, surprised and a little confused, so he felt the need to clarify. “Leftover energy from the Big Bang.”

Kyle nodded. “Yeah. Apparently, the Phoenix Force _is_ the Big Bang. Are you sure you don’t know anything about it?”

“I just paid attention in school. So, high levels of CMB correlate to this Phoenix Force’s presence?”

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s a bit higher than average, but not high enough to prove anything. It’s probably just a coincidence.”

“Why don’t you try using your powers?” Donna offered.

Jason shrugged, prayed that this all really was a coincidence (despite the mounting evidence and sense of dread), and summoned the bag of pretzels to his hand.

The scanner gave a blaring beep. Kyle swore. Donna looked between Jason and the scanner a few times before tentatively saying, “Maybe it’s another coincidence?”

Jason raised his other hand and created a small fireball. The scanner blared again. “Nope,” said Kyle with an edge of hysteria. “Looks like… I don’t know what this looks like. Are you _sure_ you have no idea what’s going on?”

Jason’s training kicked in, shoving panic aside and presenting him with facts and logic. The evidence suggested he was somehow drawing his powers from this Phoenix Force thing. If he had to imagine what the Big Bang was like, the White Hot Room would be pretty damn close, so the being in there was probably the Phoenix Force. If it was the source/personification/whatever of life, bringing somebody back from the dead should definitely be within its capabilities. But why did he have the powers he had, rather than… what kind of powers _would_ make sense? Healing? Explosions? And how had he ended up connected to the Phoenix Force in the first place? Why –

Why was everything getting so pale and hot and loud? He wasn’t pushing his limits with his powers. He wasn’t even that upset about this. He honestly felt relieved more than anything else. Things were finally making sense. He shouldn’t be going to the White Hot Room. Why was he going to the White Hot Room? Going there usually went hand-in-hand with losing control, and he couldn’t. Not here. Not with two people who didn’t deserve to get hurt within the blast radius.

He stumbled back and opened his mouth to say something – a warning, a plea for help, a bad joke, he had no idea. He couldn’t hear it over the roar filling his ears. Finally, with a feeling like fiery talons sinking into him, he was dragged fully into the White Hot Room.

Time was always indeterminate in there, but he could tell that this time was a much briefer visit than usual. The white was quickly and abruptly replaced by a field. A beautiful, picturesque field that… that was… familiar…

The memory was shoved back into place roughly enough to turn everything white again for a moment. When the moment was over, he was kneeling in the grass, clutching his head, and the robin was there again.

“It seems the cat is out of the bag, as you humans say,” it said.

Right. It wasn’t a robin. This was the Phoenix Force, taking on a less terrifying form in a less terrifying space so it could talk to him without him completely freaking out. “Looks like it,” he said, because what the fuck was he supposed to say in this situation?

“This does not have to change anything.”

“What do you mean, this doesn’t have to change anything?” Jason sputtered.

“I mean that this knowledge does not have to change your behavior.”

“What, you want me to just act like I _don’t_ have the Big Bang hanging out in my head?”

“Yes. With one exception.”

Jason clenched his hands into fists and fought the urge to try and strangle it. “What exception?”

“Inform the Guardians and their followers that I do not know what disaster shall befall the multiverse, and it is not my role to stop it.”

That little robin was looking more and more ripe for strangling with every word it said. “You’re just going to stand by and let it happen?”

“Yes. It is my role.”

Jason was never a religious person. Even when he was little, he couldn’t understand why anyone would put so much faith in a deity that either couldn’t or wouldn’t stop all the misery he saw and experienced. If they couldn’t make a world better than this, why did they deserve worship? And if they _could_ , why hadn’t they? What kind of being would allow anybody to suffer when they could do something about it?

He always thought the universe hated him. Turns out it just didn’t care. Somehow, that was even worse.

“Well, it’s not _my_ role,” he snarled. “And if you don’t want me using your power to help, you’ll have to leave.” It was a win-win situation, as far as he was concerned.

The Phoenix had no reply. Maybe it couldn’t think of one. Or maybe it just didn’t care enough to.

Jason woke up. Normally, when waking up in strange locations, he’d keep his eyes closed and pretend to still be asleep or unconscious so he could get his bearings. Waking up from the White Hot Room wasn’t normal, though, no matter how many times it happened, so his eyes immediately flew open to reveal two faces staring down at him. Two familiar, unexpected, and _very much_ unwelcome faces, especially when he had a headache.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“Language,” Wonder Woman and Superman scolded in unison.


	18. Gentlemen, This Is the War Room

Jason looked around, partly to get his bearings, partly to avoid looking at Diana and Clark. It looked like a regular hospital room, apart from the strangely metallic texture of the walls, floor, and ceiling. There was some medical thing he couldn’t remember the name of clamped on his finger, linked to a monitor displaying his vitals. They all seemed okay, at least. Not that it would be an issue if they weren’t, apparently. Not with the Phoenix Force around.

“How are you feeling?” Diana asked.

“Oh, just _peachy_ ,” Jason grumbled, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back on the pillow. It was decently soft, as far as hospital issue went, but the impact still jarred his brain enough to make him wince.

“What’s wrong?” Clark asked.

Jason let out a mirthless chuckle. “What _isn’t_ wrong?”

Even with his eyes closed, he could practically see Diana’s lips pressing into a thin, disapproving line. “Jason, you’ve been unconscious for three hours and J’onn had to fly to the other side of the planet to escape the psychic backlash of whatever happened to you. Could you please take this seriously?”

Jason’s eyes flew open, and the beeping from the monitor spiked with his heartbeat. “Is he okay? What about Donna and Kyle?”

“They’re fine,” Clark assured him. “You’re the one we’re worried about.”

Jason relaxed slightly. That was a load off his mind. Unfortunately, it was quickly replaced by the load of being in a strange place with two people he’d feel really bad about having to overpower to escape, and he tensed right back up. “Where am I?”

“The Watchtower,” said Clark. “Donna and Kyle brought you here after you passed out.”

Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The Watchtower was one of the last places he wanted to be. He was sure Donna and Kyle had the best of intentions, but it was going to be really hard to remember that when somebody inevitably tried to arrest him.

“What happened?” Diana asked.

Jason’s first instinct was to lie. The instinct was so deeply ingrained that the words were on the tip of his tongue before he realized that he didn’t have to. Donna and Kyle were probably shouting the news about the Phoenix Force from the rooftops. He just hoped word didn’t reach Batman before he could get out of here. No doubt he’d be insufferably pleased that his possession theory was right all along.

Was it right? The Phoenix said it didn’t want to interfere. A quick mental check showed that he still had his powers (and that Diana and Clark’s worry was as genuine as it was suffocating), so it tacitly approved of him ignoring its advice and doing what he wanted. That wasn’t the behavior of something controlling him, right? All the people he’d hurt, all the mistakes he’d made, it was all him.

He shook himself. Now wasn’t the time for introspection. “The Phoenix Force wanted a chat.”

Diana and Clark glanced at each other, alarmed. Diana was the first to turn back to him and say, “What did you discuss?”

The instinct to avoid the truth reared its head again, and this time he heeded it. “Apparently I’m supposed to pass it on to a Lantern, and I don’t feel like repeating myself.”

They looked at each other again, and Jason could see the shift from ‘Diana and Clark worried about a kinda-sorta-pseudo-nephew’ to ‘Wonder Woman and Superman dealing with superhero business’. “I’ll tell them he’s awake,” said Clark, sweeping out of the room.

The silence between Jason and Diana only lasted a moment, but even that was too much for him. “Is Batman here?” he asked.

“Do you want him to be?”

“No,” he said instantly. The only part of him that wanted Bruce there was stupid and naïve and not worth listening to. He didn’t need somebody to give him a hug and tell him everything was going to be okay, no matter how… He didn’t need it. He wasn’t a child. He was practically nineteen.

“All right,” said Diana. “In that case, we should hold a meeting to discuss your… situation as soon as possible.”

Jason weighed his options. Have a meeting with at least part of the Justice League while his head still felt like it was burning from the inside out, or wait until Batman barged in, which might happen any second considering he’d been there for three hours already and Batman was Batman. The scales were tipped so far in favor of the former that they’d probably break if they were anything more than a metaphor.

“Fine,” he sighed, sitting up and taking the clamp-thingy off his finger. “Who else is going to be there?”

Diana turned off the monitor before it could start freaking out over the sudden lack of readings. “I’m not entirely certain. Clark and I, Donna, Kyle, Hal, Oliver –“

“Oliver Queen? Why the fuck is he at the space bird meeting?” Jason asked incredulously.

“He saw you getting brought in, and he…” She hesitated. “He feels that there should be a devil’s advocate present.”

“You mean he’s going to try and convince you all to take me into custody,” Jason translated.

“He doesn’t know you. He’ll see sense, so long as you behave yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason said sarcastically, getting to his feet and stretching. “Anyone else?”

“I don’t know.”

He supposed he shouldn’t expect any meeting to be properly organized without Batman around. “Where’s my helmet?”

Diana frowned. “I’m not sure.”

Jason closed his eyes, held a hand out, and willed it to fly back to him from wherever it was, with the caveat of properly opening any doors in its way and not hitting anybody. Surely the personification of life could handle that, right?

The problem, he quickly realized, wasn’t whether the Phoenix Force could handle it. The question was if his squishy mortal brain could. In this instance, the answer was barely, with a side helping of pain. He didn’t go back to the White Hot Room, but he would’ve fallen over if Diana wasn’t there to catch him and it took a couple seconds until he could hear her and the clattering of his helmet rolling across the ground over the ringing in his ears.

“Got any aspirin?” he muttered once he thought the sound wouldn’t be the last straw that knocked him out.

Diana gently pushed him back onto the bed and rifled through a few drawers until she found the right bottle, then went to the sink to get some water. Jason considered telling her not to bother and he could just swallow it dry, but that would just make her even more worried about him.

“Are you _sure_ you’re all right?” she asked while he swallowed more than the recommended dose.

“It’s just a headache. I’ll be fine, as long as I don’t push myself any more.”

If anything, that just made her look even more worried. “You sound very sure of that. Has this happened before?”

Jason shrugged. “Kinda? It’s never actually talked to me before, except…” She was worried enough. No need to get into the whole dying again thing. It’d probably come up during the meeting, anyway, so he could say it then. Speaking of which… “Can we go? I wanna get this over with.”

Diana cast him a doubtful look before pulling out her phone, presumably to consult Clark on whether or not she should ignore his claims and wait until she didn’t think he might keel over any moment. Jason took another gulp of water and put his helmet on. He probably looked as bad as he felt, so maybe hiding his face would help convince her he could do this. Diana was still on the phone, and Jason’s patience was running a little thin at the moment, so he got to his feet and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“The meeting.”

“Do you have any idea where it is?”

Jason pressed a button on the wall, and the door opened. The sudden burst of pain and need to lean on the wall suggested those actions weren’t as closely related as they should have been. “I’ll find it,” he said, wincing at how weak his voice sounded.

Diana sighed and muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like ‘Like father, like son’. Luckily, Jason didn’t have to dwell on that for long, because she quickly followed it up with a louder, “I’ll take you there, as long as you don’t push yourself.”

God, did he really look that pathetic? Or was Diana just forever going to see him as an underfed kid that could get knocked over by a strong wind? That had only happened once, and only because those winds were supernaturally enhanced. Whatever the reasoning, and however much the thought of being escorted and worried over chafed, Jason accepted her help with a grunt. It was better than wandering lost around enemy territory or trying to find his way with telepathy and getting thrown back into the White Hot Room, especially now that he knew it was the domain of such an asshole.

He did _not_ lean on Diana as they walked through the Watchtower. If he stumbled and bumped into her a few times, it was because the floor was shoddily built, uneven, and very easy to trip on, not because he was unsteady on his feet. The construction improved as they went, and by the time they walked into a room with a huge table surrounded by chairs that would have screamed boardroom if it weren’t for the window showing they were in space, he was feeling properly steady and intimidating again.

This was very good, because the scene awaiting him was a little intimidating. As soon as he appeared, everyone turned to stare at him. Clark, Donna, and Kyle looked both relieved and concerned to see him. Hal and Oliver were quite a bit less sympathetic. J’onn was there, too, eying Jason warily. And, for some godforsaken reason, Plastic Man was there, too, barely sparing Jason a glance and a cheery wave before returning his attention to his phone. Since when was he part of the Justice League?

“Did everybody in the Watchtower decide to show up?” he asked sarcastically.

“Pretty much, yeah,” said Plastic Man brightly. “Everyone who didn’t have anything better to do, anyway.”

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” said Clark before Jason could get mad and escalate the situation.

Diana took a seat next to Clark. Jason chose the seat as far from anyone else as mathematically possible.

“What, exactly, is your connection the Phoenix Force?” Hal asked immediately and harshly.

“Nice to see you again, too, Hal,” said Jason. It was actually kind of refreshing to have somebody who remembered the old him treat the new him with hostility.

Plastic Man looked up from his phone. “You two know each other?”

Jason could see the dawning realization on everyone’s faces that oh, yeah, he didn’t actually know who Jason was. Explaining the Phoenix Force was going to be draining enough, so Jason decided to make it quick. “Long story short, I was a kid sidekick before I got blown up and decided there are better ways to help people.”

“You mean you decided to become a crime lord, and when that didn’t work out you went on a cross-country murder spree?” Oliver piped up.

“That is not the purpose of this meeting,” said Diana before Jason could get mad and escalate the situation. “We are here to discuss the Phoenix Force.”

“We’d already be discussing it if he’d just answered the question rather than being a smartass," said Hal.

It took Jason a second or two to remember what the question had been. He used that time to flip Hal off before saying, “Apparently it’s using me as a host or something.”

Everyone reacted with varying levels of alarm. Hal looked like he might have a heart attack, which wasn’t surprising considering his experience with being host to weird cosmic entities.

“Are you sure?” asked Kyle. Jason didn’t know him well enough to be sure, but he could swear the expression on his face was one of empathy.

Jason threw his hands in the air. “I’m sure about jack shit! This thing’s worse than Batman when it comes to explaining crap.”

“You spoke with it?” asked J’onn. “Was that the cause of your mental state while you were unconscious?”

Jason winced at the realization that he must’ve tried taking a look in his head to help him and gotten a mindful of the White Hot Room for his trouble. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Is that why you passed out?” asked Donna.

“Yes, I’d rate the experience one out of ten, would not recommend, let’s move on,” Jason snapped. He turned to look at Hal and Kyle. “It said it doesn’t know what’s going on with the multiverse, and it isn’t going to help.”

It obviously took them a few seconds to remember that was the reason they’d been looking for the Phoenix Force in the first place. “I don’t think anybody really expected it to help,” said Kyle. “The Monitors just wanted to ask for information.”

“The Monitors?” Jason repeated, racking his brain for any memory of the term. All he came up with was computer stuff. Why did so many people just put a ‘The’ before some generic word and call it a day when it came to titles?

Kyle shrugged. “They monitor the multiverse or something.”

“Did you pay _any_ attention during the briefing?” Hal sighed.

“Did you?” Kyle replied.

Hal gave a twitch that suggested he hadn’t paid quite enough attention to merit the high horse he was trying to place himself on. “I listened enough to know that the Phoenix Force isn’t supposed to involve itself in mortal matters, and it doesn’t make sense for it to suddenly decide it wants a host.”

Everybody turned to look at Jason. “I don’t know how it happened, either!” he said defensively. “I was kinda, y’know, _dead_ when it happened.” That elicited a few winces, but not as many as he’d expected.

Oliver looked particularly unimpressed. “Don’t try and play that card, kid, we’ve all died, too.”

“I haven’t!” said Kyle.

“Right, sorry,” said Oliver. “We’ve all died except for…” He frowned at Plastic Man. “Plas, have you died?”

Plas glanced up from his phone. “Does spending a few thousand years scattered across the ocean floor count?”

“No.”

“Then nope.”

“If we could please get back on track,” Diana interrupted. “Jason, is there anything else you can tell us?”

Jason glared at Oliver. “Yeah, I’m not a kid.”

“Jason, please,” Clark sighed.

“You’re, like, seventeen,” said Oliver.

“I’m turning nineteen in a few weeks, you –“

“You’re _eighteen?_ ” Kyle was aghast.

“Could we please –“ Donna attempted.

Jason ignored her. “Yes, eighteen, a legal adult, not a kid.”

“Buddy, you can’t even drink legally,” Plastic Man giggled.

“I can in countries that don’t still have the legacy of a Puritan stick up their –“

“Jason!” Diana, Clark, and Donna all said at once, in varying degrees of harshness and disappointment.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn’t here to argue, no matter how satisfying it felt. The longer he drew this out, the greater the chance of Batman showing up, and then arguing would be both inevitable and unsatisfying. Still… “He started it,” he grumbled.

“Could you please explain what being a host entails?” asked J’onn.

That was too reasonable and specific a question to not answer plainly. Didn’t mean he had to answer it fully, though. “I’ve got powers, and it brings me back whenever I die.”

Clark’s brows drew together in worry. “What do you mean, ‘whenever’?”

“Yeah, I’ve died, like, three times.” He glared at Oliver again. “Does that give me the right to play the dead card?”

J’onn spoke up before they could start arguing again. “Has the Phoenix Force affected your behavior at all?”

Jason had been asking himself that question since before he’d even known what the Phoenix Force was called. He finally felt like he had an answer. “No. It said it wanted to interfere as little as possible. It didn’t even want me to know it existed before Kyle told me about it.”

Diana and Clark shot each other looks while Oliver said, “So you’ve killed hundreds of people entirely of your own volition. That’s real comforting.”

Jason made a realization and burst out laughing. Everyone else in the room was clearly worried by this, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, because, “Oh, man, B’s going to _love_ this. I’m literally possessed, but it’s still all me.”

It seemed only Diana, Clark, and J’onn were in the loop about that little theory, because everyone else was utterly confused. Until Hal came to his own realization and exclaimed, “Is that why he was asking me all those weird questions? I thought he was just being an asshole.”

Much as he didn’t like Hal, Jason had to admit that interrogating him on what had to be one of the worst experiences of his life was indeed an asshole thing for Bruce to do. Had he really been that desperate to believe Jason wasn’t himself? What was he saying, of course Bruce was.

“Are you certain of that?” asked J’onn.

Jason shrugged. “I mean, no? It’s kinda hard to self-diagnose this sort of thing.”

“I could take a look, now that your mind is settled,” J’onn offered.

Jason’s first instinct was to refuse. He didn’t like the idea of anyone getting in his head, especially somebody he didn’t want turning out like Grodd if they dug too deep. But Martian Manhunter had been reading minds way longer than Jason had been alive. He knew what he was doing. And if Jason was desensitized to fucked up psyches at this point, J’onn probably wouldn’t even blink at his.

That didn’t mean he had to _like_ the idea. “Do you have to go beyond surface level?” he asked.

“If I do, I will not speak of anything I see,” J’onn promised.

Jason believed him. He himself would never tell anyone about most of the stuff he saw in people’s heads, if only because nobody would believe how fucked up the average person was. He nodded and tried not to tense too much as he let his barriers down. The thoughts and feelings of everyone present flooded in, but thankfully all he got was a general wave of concern, fear, and suspicion before J’onn’s presence brushed against his mind.

Whoever said language came before thought was either not a telepath or a liar, because the following conversation barely contained any proper words at all. It was mostly feelings and imagery. They were practically dolphins. If Jason had to transcribe it, however, it would go something like:

“Can you not open your mind without reaching out?” J’onn asked.

“No,” Jason replied. “I mean, it might be possible, I guess, but I don’t know how to.”

“You should have some training.”

“I already got training from Gorilla Grodd before I betrayed him and the Phoenix Force destroyed his mind.”

“Ah. I did wonder what did that to him. How do you know it won’t do the same thing to you?”

“It did. When I came back to life the first time, it took a year for my brain to start working properly again.”

“Hmm. Perhaps your mind needed that long to adjust to its newfound power. Or perhaps it took that long for the Phoenix Force to properly heal it. Brains are very complicated things.”

“I dunno. A human brain doesn’t seem too complicated compared to the entire universe, and it seemed to have no problem creating that.”

“As I understand it, the Phoenix did not create the universe, per se. It simply birthed it. You should probably get a scan to see how your powers affect your brain.”

“Maybe. Honestly, I’d rather not think about all that. Can we just get this over with?”

“All right. Let me know if I go too far.”

The scan started. It wasn’t as bad as Jason feared, but not quite as pleasant as he’d stupidly hoped. J’onn was able to keep his own feelings and reactions regarding what he found from bleeding through the connection, so at least Jason didn’t have to deal with any more pity, horror, and disgust than he already felt for his past self. J’onn had to delve deeper into his memories than he would’ve liked, and it felt invasive and uncomfortable no matter how justified it was. He had to make sure that Jason’s actions made sense, and to do that he had to see how his past experiences colored his choices and behavior. He probably wasn’t judging Jason for the things he saw. If he judged everyone for the things he saw in their heads, he’d never have time to do anything else. Probably.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably less than a minute, J’onn retreated back into his own mind, and Jason once again became aware of his surroundings. His fingers had been clenched tightly enough that making them uncurl was painful, there was sweat dripping into his eyes, and he could taste blood from where he’d bitten his tongue. Still better than the last time somebody went into his head.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked, hoping the weakness in his voice was just his imagination. “Do I need an exorcist?”

“No,” said J’onn. “Though I would highly recommend some form of therapy.”

Even with his mind firmly locked down, Jason could sense the silent sigh of relief that spread through the room. He wasn’t sure why everyone was so happy about it. Yeah, sure, the Phoenix Force wasn’t going around killing people. It was still giving free rein and seemingly limitless power to… to a… well, to _him._

“I find violence very therapeutic,” he said.

That got the mood back down to a nice, stressed boil.

“I don’t suppose anyone’s got an anti-Phoenix Force prison to spare?” Oliver asked.

“No,” Hal growled, clearly not happy about it.

“Come on, Hal, he doesn’t seem like much of a threat,” said Kyle.

Jason felt genuinely insulted by that. “Excuse me?!”

“He killed fourteen people in less than an hour!” objected Oliver.

Donna turned to Jason with a look of pure shock and disappointment and said, “You did what?!”

Jason crossed his arms and glared at her defensively. “They had it coming.”

Kyle raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, considering he literally has the power of the Big Bang at his fingertips, he could have killed a _lot_ more than fourteen people.”

“Oh, because that makes it _so_ much better,” said Oliver sarcastically.

“He has a point,” Hal admitted through clenched teeth. “If Phoenix really didn’t have any control, he would’ve destroyed the planet by now.”

“Uh… thanks?” Jason honestly couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or not.

Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. “Okay. We’ve established that the Phoenix Force is using Phoenix as a host for some reason, it isn’t making him do anything, it’s not going to help with whatever’s happening with the multiverse, and we should all be throwing him a party for _only_ killing hundreds of people. Can we call meeting adjourned so we can get him out of here?”

The thought was very tempting, but Jason made a promise. “I said the Phoenix Force wasn’t going to help. That doesn’t mean _I_ can’t.”

“It doesn’t?” Clark asked, confused.

“We literally just went over how it’s not the boss of me. I want to help, and if it doesn’t like it, it can just leave.”

“I’m not sure antagonizing it is a good idea,” Diana warned.

“If it didn’t want to be antagonized, it picked the wrong host.”

An anxious silence settled over the room as everyone waited to see if the Phoenix Force was going to retaliate.

“See?” said Jason once it was clear that nothing was happening. “It doesn’t care. It doesn’t care about anything, except fulfilling its role.”

Plastic Man rose to his feet in an unnervingly fluid motion. “All right, guys, it’s been fun, I’m gonna head out before the planet-destroying space bird gets mad. See ya!” Jason had to avert his eyes as he bounced out of the room, because the human body was not meant to bend that way and his own human body thought the appropriate reaction was to throw up at the sight.

Oliver left as well, with one last grumble of, “When this goes wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”


	19. Confrontation

To his surprise, Jason was able to leave the Watchtower without destroying anything, getting arrested, or running into Batman. With that in mind, he tried not to be bitter about the fact that he left with two babysitters. He understood why Donna and Kyle were keeping an eye on him. If they weren’t, he might not be able to resist the urge to run and go back into hiding, and it would be really embarrassing for a Monitor to arrive on Earth only for the Justice League to have to tell them they misplaced the lifeforce of the universe.

That didn’t mean he had to take it lying down when Donna insisted they stop for something to eat.

“The multiverse is in danger, and you want to stop to eat?” he asked.

She was undeterred. “I know how you Bats work. When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

“Take-out _is_ a proper meal.”

“Would Alfred agree?”

Jason glared at her venomously. “Low fucking blow, Troy.” He made sure to look appropriately unhappy as they walked to a restaurant Kyle suggested, toned down the scowl slightly for the hostess’s sake while they were seated, and as soon as she was gone went right back to trying to bore a hole through his menu through his glare alone.

He was calculating which meal would be the least healthy, just to spite Donna, when he received a text message. He pulled out his phone and saw it was from Barbara.

_B knows. Brace yourself. Also, you and I are going to have a long talk about keeping dangerous secrets once this is all over._

He swore loudly enough for the elderly couple seated nearby to stare at him like he’d just murdered their cat.

“What’s up?” asked Kyle, reaching for the pocket he’d hidden his ring in.

Jason lowered his voice. “Batman found out.”

Kyle’s brow creased in confusion. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s going to be a fucking nightmare,” Jason growled, running a hand through his hair.

The sound of tooth-rottingly bubbly pop music filled the air. Donna pulled her phone out of her pocket and answered it. “Hey, Dick, what’s up?”

Jason would have sworn again if he wasn’t afraid Dick would hear.

“Uh, yeah, I guess O got in touch with him,” she continued, staring at Jason with something close to panic in her eyes. “Yeah. I heard. Weird, huh?”

Jason silently mouthed as clearly as he could, ‘Don’t tell him I’m here.’

Donna nodded. “I-I don’t know, Dick. Apparently Hal’s contacting the Guardians so they can contact the Monitors so they can contact him?” She fidgeted with her napkin. “I’m… I’m just kind of frazzled, I guess. It was pretty scary when he just passed out like that. No – no, he’s fine now, don’t worry, it was just the Phoenix Force talking to him.”

Jason closed his eyes and rested his head on the table so he didn’t have to watch the train wreck anymore. He could still hear it, though, which was more than enough to have him wincing in sympathy.

“I don’t know! I don’t understand weird telepath stuff! No, I’m _not_ being defensive! I’m – I have to go. Bye.”

Jason raised his head. “Real convincing,” he said sarcastically.

“I don’t like lying to my friends.” She put her phone back in her pocket. “Especially when they just want to know their brother’s okay.”

Jason sighed and let his head fall back down. When she put it like that, he felt a bit bad, but if Dick was that worried then whatever he heard would be passed on to Bruce. She’d probably already told him enough to narrow down the search B was undoubtedly performing. “And I don’t like getting ambushed by Batman, but looks like that’s off the table, now.”

“Why would he ambush you?” Kyle asked through a mouthful of free breadstick. “I thought we all agreed arresting you wasn’t a good idea.”

“Trust me, this would be way easier if he just wanted to arrest me,” Jason grumbled into the table. “He’s going to have that mopey look on his face and ask me if I’m really okay and try to convince me that the Phoenix Force is forcing me to kill people.” He raised his head just enough for it to collide with the table again with a satisfying _thunk._

“Can’t you just explain it to him?” Donna asked.

“Clearly, you’ve never tried to change Batman’s mind on something.”

“It’s gonna take him a while to find us, right?” said Kyle, in a nervous tone that suggested he was beginning to understand the gravity of the situation. “I mean, we didn’t tell anyone where we were going.”

Donna nervously looked at her phone. “He couldn’t have traced that call, right?”

Jason took a deep breath and sat back up. “Fuck it. If I’ve got to deal with him, I’m doing it on a full stomach.” He opened his menu again. “Have they got chili dogs?”

Donna and Kyle stared at him in mute horror.

He rolled his eyes. “Look, even Batman’s going to take a while to get here all the way from Gotham. We’ve got time to eat.”

The tension was still high enough that their server could sense it and made sure to get away from them as fast as possible, and they all kept jumping at every sudden, dark-colored movement, but they managed to eat without Batman showing up and only one broken glass, which Donna paid and apologized profusely for. Jason would never admit it aloud, but it _was_ nice to have a proper meal with people he didn’t hate. Usually, he got so caught up in his own head planning his next move that he didn’t even notice what his food tasted like, if it was worth tasting at all. The three of them weren’t exactly in a chatty mood, but what little talk there was was enough to keep Jason grounded.

He was feeling downright relaxed when he spotted an expensive car park right in front of the restaurant. He’d recognize Bruce anywhere, even through two layers of windows. Especially since he was giving the restaurant an unmistakably Batman-ish scan.

Jason quelled all the conflicting emotions trying to rise up in his heart and got to his feet. “He’s here. Wish me luck.”

“Do you want us to go with you?” Donna asked.

Kyle nearly choked on his food at the suggestion. To his credit, however, once he could breathe again he wheezed out, “Yeah. If you need backup…”

“I don’t.” Jason didn’t need any witnesses to whatever train wreck was careening towards them.

He walked out the door at the same time Bruce stepped out of the car. They made eye contact for only a moment before Jason broke it, both to avoid the intensity in Bruce’s eyes and to find a good place for them to scream at each other without witnesses. He jerked his head toward an appropriate alley and went to it without waiting to see Bruce’s reaction.

When he turned around, Bruce was right behind him. “We need to talk,” he said, in a blank tone that screamed ‘robot mode activated’. Jason was honestly relieved by it. Robot mode was easy to deal with. The problem was that Jason didn’t have a robot mode, and Bruce always eventually dropped it to try and connect with him better, and then he’d say something stupid that made them both remember why he was better off in robot mode.

“No, we don’t.” Jason knew Bruce wasn’t going to just walk away at that, but it was worth a try.

Bruce clenched his jaw so tight it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack. “You said you’ve died three times.”

Jason blinked. “ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on?”

Robot mode flickered. “It’s true, then?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah. Joker, Deathstroke, and…” _And my legs betraying me._ “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Bruce nearly shouted.

Jason shot a silent, meaningful glance over Bruce’s shoulder at all the pedestrians walking past, well within earshot.

Bruce understood and took a moment to collect himself before he continued. “What happened?”

Lying or evading was just going to get Bruce even more riled up, so Jason stared down at the ground and admitted, “I tripped and fell.”

The temptation to look up and see Bruce’s expression was great, and only grew as the silence lengthened. It nearly overwhelmed the pure embarrassment weighing Jason’s gaze down like an anchor when Bruce finally managed to say, “What?”

“I pushed myself too far, failed to jump a fence, and cracked my head open on the concrete. Thought I got away with just a concussion until the Phoenix Force told me about it.”

The silence stretched long enough that Jason finally looked back up. Bruce was back in robot mode, with a dash of calculating. “When did this happen?” he asked.

Honesty wasn’t going to cut it here. Telling Bruce it was indirectly caused by their reunion would send him into a guilty breakdown, and those were bad enough even in the privacy of the Batcave. Jason wasn’t going to risk some passerby seeing Bruce Wayne having a public meltdown, recording it, and having it go viral. The odds of Bruce letting something incriminating slip and bringing his secret identity tumbling down was too great.

“Back in Gotham,” said Jason. “The first time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bruce demanded, robot façade cracking.

“I didn’t know!” Jason snapped. “I just said that! Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

“I’m sorry,” said Bruce. Jason was so shocked that he nearly didn’t hear the rest of what he said. “I… It’s hard to think straight about…” _About you dying._ For a moment, Bruce looked like he might throw up at the thought before he managed to collect himself again. “Did you only just find out about the Phoenix Force?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Jason gawked at him. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure I didn’t know the personification of life was living in my head!”

“And yet you don’t seem very surprised by it.”

It was amazing how quickly Bruce, concerned father, could shift into Batman, suspicious detective. “I didn’t know,” Jason repeated.

Batman was unmoved.

“But… I had some suspicions.”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to repeat himself. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jason looked back at the ground and tried to remember a reason that didn’t sound stupid in hindsight. He couldn’t find one. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Even with his eyes averted and mind closed, Jason could tell that Batman wasn’t happy with this answer. “I’m your father,” he said. “I always worry about you.”

Another amazing thing about Bruce was how he always said those warm and fuzzy things only at the worst of times. It took Jason a couple seconds to banish the tears from his eyes and the lump from his throat so he could change the subject. “Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you.”

Jason looked back up with as fierce a glare as he could muster. “No. You didn’t. You _wanted_ to see me and have me tell you I lied to everyone and you were right.”

“I…” Bruce trailed off with a slightly guilty look. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right, and that we had our facts straight.”

“Fine.” Jason lifted a hand and started counting on his fingers as he spoke. “I was resurrected by the Phoenix Force so it could see the world from a mortal perspective, my powers are an unforeseen side-effect, it’s brought me back whenever I’ve died, from now on it’s going to try and stop me from dying, it overloads my brain and knocks me out whenever it tries to talk to me or I push myself too far, it’s not making me kill people, and I’m gonna use its power to try and save the multiverse. Did I miss anything?”

Bruce mulled it all over in tense, expressionless silence. Jason was on the verge of just flying away when he finally spoke again. “Where were you before you came to Gotham?”

“Why?” Jason asked. It took a great deal of self-control to not instinctively shift into a more defensive stance. “Did J’onn say something?”

“No. But according to Dick, Deathstroke called you an assassin and you already knew Damian’s name. Is that a coincidence?”

Shit. Jason should have known this was coming. “Is now really the time?” he said.

“Answer the question,” Bruce growled.

Fuck it. “No. It’s not a coincidence. Resurrection fucked my head up, and Talia found me living on the streets practically catatonic. She kept me around to try and figure out how I came back, and when she failed, I stuck around until Ra’s got sick of me. She never told me about Damian. I picked up the name from her thoughts. I thought he was a student or something. If I’d known, I never would have left without him.”

Robot mode suffered a fatal error and vanished, replaced by horror. “You… you were…” Bruce closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead, as if the action would make this new knowledge settle in his head faster.

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Jason, before Bruce started crying or something. “It’s not like she had me locked up in a dungeon or anything.”

Bruce was not comforted by this. “I know what League training is like, Jason.”

Jason shrugged. “I was a special case. Less torture, more throwing shit around telekinetically.”

Bruce blanched, and Jason realized his mistake.

“By that, I mean _no_ torture. Jeez, B, calm down.” No need for pain tolerance training when he’d gotten to experience it multiple times second-hand before he figured out how to block it out. He wasn’t going to be telling Bruce about that any time soon.

Even this much information was clearly too much. Bruce was staring at him with such a sad and guilty look that Jason couldn’t remember why he was so mad at him.

The memory lapse lasted just long enough for him to blurt out, “Look, this really isn’t the time for this. Once we’re sure the multiverse isn’t going to blow up, we can talk it over. I promise.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. What the fuck? Why the fuck had he promised something like that? Yeah, sure, Bruce looked really sad, and at least it would put off the inevitable, but it was still inevitable, and it was _not_ going to be a good time for anyone. Especially since Bruce would have time to do his research and imagine every last bad thing that could have happened to Jason in excruciating detail. Maybe Jason should try and delay solving the current crisis a little. Not enough to actually hurt anyone, of course, but maybe take a little longer doing surveillance and research or whatever.

Bruce’s silence turned into one of shock. Eventually the surprise gave way to a small, hesitant smile. “All right. Be safe.”

Jason nodded and walked past him before he could try and hug him or something else equally foolish.

Kyle and Donna seemed pretty surprised to see him again. Or, at least, surprised to see him calm and not in need of subduing, if Kyle shoving his ring back in his pocket was anything to judge by. “How’d it go?” Donna asked.

Jason shrugged. “I’m already regretting pretty much everything I said, so the usual.”

The rest of dinner was much more relaxed, though that wasn’t saying much. They still had the fate of the multiverse weighing on them, and talking with Bruce hadn’t exactly left Jason in a great mood. Judging by the server’s continued skittishness, things were still tense and awkward by normal standards. By superhero standards, Jason was having a pretty all right time. It helped that Donna and Kyle’s conversation was a treasure trove of gossip and information on the hero community, which could come in very useful, one way or the other.

Donna and Kyle were discussing whether or not they should get dessert (Jason stayed out of it, because admitting he wanted something sweet would only further cement him as a teenager in their eyes) when Kyle’s phone beeped. He checked it and sighed. “The Monitor’s in the sector. I don’t suppose we could have our meeting over dessert?”

“No,” said Jason. “My sense of normalcy’s already fucked up enough. There’s no coming back from having ice cream with an extradimensional being.”

“With the Phoenix Force, wouldn’t any ice cream you have be with an extradimensional being?” Donna teased.

Jason threw his napkin at her and pulled out his wallet to pay for his part of the bill.

After some discussion, arguing, and texting, they all agreed to meet in a nearby park that would hopefully be secluded now that night was falling. Jason put his helmet and armor back on, because even if he was legally dead and practically unrecognizable from his scrawny fifteen-year-old self he’d still rather not see his face in any news stories. Even if nobody attached it to Jason Todd, they still might attach it to Phoenix, and then going undercover would get a lot harder.

The Monitor wasn’t exactly hard to spot. Jason wasn’t a local, but he suspected guys with weird armor and capes and pure red eyes weren’t a common sight in the park. Those red eyes immediately locked onto Jason with unnerving intensity.

“Jason Todd,” he said, because apparently normal greetings were for lesser beings.

“Nice to meet you, too, whatever your name is,” said Jason.

“I do not have a name as you mortals do,” said the Monitor.

Right. Because the red eyes didn’t already scream ‘I’m weird’. “Well, if I don’t get to call you by a name, you don’t get to call me by mine, either. Phoenix will do just fine.”

“As you wish.” The Monitor finally looked over at Donna and Kyle. “Thank you for guarding him, Kyle Rayner, Donna Troy. Your duty is fulfilled.”

Kyle and Donna exchanged a dubious look. Kyle looked back first and said, “This isn’t about duty. We’re going to help, too.”

Jason, to his surprise, was actually happy to hear that. Not that he was going to show it. “What? Why?”

“I know what it’s like to have that kind of power,” Kyle explained with a haunted sort of look. “If I hadn’t had ‘normal’ people around to ground me… I don’t want to know what might have happened.”

“I’m the one that got you involved in this,” said Donna. “It wouldn’t feel right to not see it through. Besides, you two could use someone with…” She trailed off with the thoughtful look of someone trying to come up with a nice way of saying something.

“Common sense?” Jason offered.

Donna winced. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but…”

Jason shrugged. “Don’t worry. I get the feeling Kyle doesn’t have much, and I _definitely_ don’t.”

Kyle pouted. “Hey!”

“You are aware that this could easily cost you your lives, yes?” said the Monitor.

They nodded without so much as a second thought. Jason tried to ignore the unease squirming in his chest. _They’re not just doing this for you,_ he told himself. _They’re doing this for literally everyone and everything they care about. If they die or get hurt, it isn’t your fault. They know what they’re getting into. And so long as you keep an eye on them, nothing should be able to happen, right? What could pose a threat to the Phoenix Force?_

The Monitor pulled out some weird sci-fi device. “Very well. The extra hands could prove useful. Our first step should be to determine what this threat is, precisely.”

“How do you know there’s a threat if you don’t know what it is?” Jason asked.

The Monitor looked at him with an inscrutable expression uncannily similar to the one Batman used to wear when trying to explain complex forensic evidence in layman’s terms Jason would understand. “Time does not only flow forward, and neither do the ripples caused by such cataclysmic events. You might say that the multiverse is tensing in preparation for a blow. The severity of the blow has yet to be determined. If we do not attempt to minimize it, all universes are at risk.”

“Wow, that was almost understandable,” said Kyle. “You’re way better at explaining things than that other Monitor.”

“I am the only Monitor in this universe.”

Kyle opened and closed his mouth a few times before muttering, “Sorry,” and taking a step back to somewhat hide behind Jason and Donna. Hard to do in a glowing green suit. It clashed horribly with the red in his cheeks, too.

“How do we determine the threat?” asked Donna before anyone else could embarrass themselves.

The Monitor returned his attention to the device. “We’ll be scanning various sectors for similar readings to the ones in the ripple effect.”

Kyle overcame his shame enough to say, “That sounds like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

“That would be an apt metaphor,” the Monitor admitted. “However, we’ve little other choice. I shall keep in contact with the other Monitors in case they discover the cause in their universes, and you –“

Jason had never heard the like of the weird, blaring sound the device made at that moment, but he could tell that it didn’t mean anything good. His findings were confirmed by the look of dawning terror on the Monitor’s face.

He shoved the device back in whichever fold of cape from whence it came. “We have to go. _Now._ ”

“What’s happened?” Donna asked, settling into a combat stance. Jason pulled out a gun, Kyle held his ring at the ready, and all three of them looked around for the thing that had the cosmic being so freaked out.

It appeared in a flash of red light. More specifically, _he_ appeared.

As Robin, Jason went through the profiles of every supervillain known to Batman, which meant practically every single one active on Earth five or so years ago and quite a few not on Earth. Most of the ones not from Earth were classified under ‘If encountered, run away and call for help’. Jason hated that idea. He’d always figured there’d be _something_ he could do to stop them, or at least slow them down. If it cost him his life, so be it.

As Phoenix, Jason had more power than Robin could have fathomed, yet it was only now he truly understood the appeal of that strategy. In theory, he was reasonably confident the Phoenix Force could protect him. In practice, he had barely the slightest notion of how to control that power, the Phoenix Force probably wouldn’t lift a metaphorical finger to protect Donna or Kyle, and that was fucking _Darkseid_ standing before them, surveying the scene in much the same manner a child would survey an anthill they were about to stomp on.

Even with his mind firmly locked down, Jason could sense waves of _something_ emanating from Darkseid that made his skin crawl and his knees weak. His hands were shaking enough that he had to adjust his grip on his gun, keeping his fingers away from the trigger in case a sudden spasm had him shooting himself or one of his… friends? Allies? Fuck, now wasn’t the time to quantify relationships. The important thing was they were people he’d rather not shoot.

Darkseid smiled, his eyes bathing his bared teeth in a red glow that made it look like he’d just torn into something living and bleeding. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced, Phoenix.”

“I know who you are,” Jason growled.

The smile twisted into a snarl. “I was not speaking to you, _child._ ”

Under normal circumstances, Jason would never let such a dismissal stand without retort. He had a whole mental list of comebacks for people looking down on him. But literally nothing about these circumstances were normal, and Jason hadn’t felt this scared since… since…

_A cold floor beneath his cheek, growing stickier with every wet, rattling breath he managed to draw. Cold metal biting into his skin through the holes already torn through his uniform. Cold laughter ringing through the room, through his ears, through his dreams, through –_

Warmth against his side as Donna drew closer until their arms were practically touching. This close, he could feel that she was shaking, too, but her expression was resolute.

Darkseid didn’t even seem to notice their discomfort. That was not a good sign. He was the type to gloat and revel in the fear he caused. Instead, all he was doing was staring at Jason like he’d be able to look through him and see the Phoenix Force if he stared hard enough. “I am Darkseid, Dread Lord of Apokolips. Long have I awaited the moment you ventured beyond the Source Wall and into my reach.”

Jason felt a prickle of energy from behind, where the Monitor was. Jason had no idea what he was doing, but hopefully it was something that would put a lot of distance between them and Darkseid. He didn’t dare glance over his shoulder to check, in case Darkseid followed his gaze and saw whatever was happening.

Luckily, he was still entirely focused on monologuing. “I never imagined a being such as you would be forced to stoop to such levels as using some mortal child as a host. Luckily, I am here. If it is a host you wish, I would gladly be of service. With my will and your power, all of existence shall kneel before us.”

Having the helmet on gave Jason the freedom to silently mouth all the curse words he wanted. For once, the supervillain wasn’t exaggerating in the slightest. Jason could already warp reality to his liking (or, more often, his disliking), and he had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t imagine anything capable of stopping a Phoenix-powered Darkseid. Whatever the Monitor was doing, he’d have to do it fast, and Jason would have to make sure Darkseid didn’t notice. Luckily, he _did_ know what he was doing on that front.

“It’s not like I forced it to possess me,” he said. “If it wanted you as a host, it would’ve chosen you.”

Darkseid’s eyes blazed. “You cannot possibly imagine that it would have chosen someone like you over someone like me.”

“Yeah. I can. It already knows what it’s like to be powerful and important. Maybe it felt like slumming it.”

Darkseid’s face twisted with the uncomprehending rage of somebody faced with an idea that does not fit their worldview. “Nothing with true power would toss it aside so easily.”

The energy at Jason’s back grew. He got the feeling that whatever the Monitor was doing, it was almost ready. Unfortunately, the energy seemed to have grown to the point that Darkseid noticed it. His eyes finally left Jason and drifted over his shoulder. Nope, nope, nope, nope, _nope._

Jason aimed and fired. Darkseid didn’t even flinch, but his attention did return to Jason, so yay, success. Not so much of a success was the gun getting telekinetically yanked out of his hand and into Darkseid’s, where it met its dismal, crunching end.

 _So that’s how it feels,_ Jason thought to himself as Kyle created some guns of his own (albeit more sci-fi-looking) and opened fire, for what little good that did. Donna moved to engage, but she only got a step or two away before Jason realized she was going for the melee approach and grabbed her arm before she got herself killed. With his other hand, he pulled out his kris and threw it, willing it to strike true.

Darkseid didn’t scream as it sunk into his chest. He just snarled, yanked it out with enough force to send it flying out of sight, and fixed Jason with a look that had his hold on Donna turn into a death grip of sought comfort. Donna took this as an invitation to step protectively in front of him, even as Darkseid’s eyes grew brighter and brighter until they burst, unleashing a beam toward them.

 _Omega Beams,_ his brain oh-so-helpfully informed him. _Accurate enough to chase a target across the universe and strong enough to give Superman third degree burns._

 _Thanks, brain,_ he silently grumbled. _Okay, Phoenix Force, let’s see if you meant the whole ‘not letting me die again’ thing._

He breathed out a sigh of relief when the beam took a ninety-degree turn to avoid Donna, and was still releasing it when it collided with his chest.

Before everything could go completely and utterly white, he felt hands grab hold of him and yank him backward.


	20. Miseris Socios

Donna’s first instinct was to whirl around and hit whoever had grabbed her, but she felt so disoriented that the thought of doing anything besides standing still made her want to throw up. She stared at the spot where Darkseid had stood just a second ago. Even through the stars in her eyes, she could tell there wasn’t anything there anymore.

The hands released her, and Kyle’s voice asked, “Where are we?”

“Earth-50,” said the Monitor. “It should take Darkseid some time to find us.”

Darkseid wasn’t the only one not where he was supposed to be. Donna turned around and saw the Monitor kneeling over Jason, who was lying on the ground in a haphazard heap.

“Is he all right?” she asked.

“His vitals are steady,” said the Monitor. “Either the power needed to block an Omega Beam overloaded his mind, or the Phoenix Force resurrected him instantly. Either way, he should awaken soon enough.”

Donna breathed a sigh of relief. She’d never be able to look Dick in the eye again if anything permanent happened to Jason on her watch.

Kyle fiddled anxiously with his ring. “So, what do we do now?”

The Monitor rose to his feet. “The same as before. The Monitor of this universe can take my place while we search this one.”

“What about Darkseid?” asked Donna.

The Monitor’s expression darkened. “He will search for us. Unless we remain on the run for eternity, he will eventually find us. It seems unlikely that the Phoenix Force would willingly take him as a host, and even less likely that he would succeed in forcing it, but it is equally unlikely that you two would survive such an encounter.”

“We aren’t leaving,” said Donna firmly. She didn’t regret dying trying to protect others the first time, and she wouldn’t regret it a second time.

“I would not ask you to,” said the Monitor. “If you returned to Earth-0, Darkseid would find you and interrogate you on Phoenix’s whereabouts.”

Donna could tell that Kyle had to suppress a shiver at the thought. She did, too. She could handle pain, but she got the feeling that pain was the least an Apokoliptian interrogation had to offer. “How do we deal with him, then?”

The Monitor pulled his strange device back out. “At a later time. This mysterious threat requires our undivided attention.”

“How do we know Darkseid isn’t the threat?” asked Kyle. “Him getting the Phoenix Force seems like a pretty big danger to the multiverse.”

The Monitor froze and thought it over for a moment. “That… is possible. However, I still maintain that his success is improbable at best.”

“You just said it’s possible,” Kyle insisted. “Shouldn’t we have a game plan just in case?”

Jason shifted and let out a groan. Donna was kneeling at his side in an instant. “Jason? How are you feeling?”

Jason flapped a hand at her and slurred out, “I dunno what you just said, but shut up until everything stops exploding.”

“Sounds like he’s fine,” said Kyle blithely.

Jason groaned again and reached up to cover his ears, only to find his helmet in the way. He yanked it off and curled up on his side. He looked so unhappy and young that Donna found herself automatically reaching out to pet his hair. It was pretty tangled and oily and clearly not well taken care of, but he seemed to relax slightly at the touch, so she kept it up.

The Monitor stared at him thoughtfully. “Should he learn to properly channel the Phoenix Force’s power, he might be the only game plan we need.”

* * *

Harley didn’t know why she kept coming back here. It had nearly been a whole year. If the Joker was going to come back, he would’ve done it already, right? And if he couldn’t for reasons besides being dead, he would’ve told her, right? He wouldn’t just leave her out to dry like that, right?

She shook herself and re-checked her gun. Of course he’d do something like that. He was a sociopath that had never done anything but hurt her. Except for… No. She had to stop focusing on the exceptions. That was how abusers worked. They always had good days where they were the sweetest person ever so that you’d think they weren’t _that_ bad, see, they _do_ love you, it’s _your_ fault, if you weren’t so [Insert Insult Here] they’d be like that all the time.

Once upon a time, the Joker told her that if he ever had to do a disappearing act, he’d meet up with her or send her a message at this apartment. She’d camped out here for weeks after the fire at Amusement Mile, waiting. The only people that showed up were the delivery guys and gals bringing the food she’d had to order once she cleaned out what little was left in the kitchen. She’d only given out once her clothes started stinking so bad it was a constant struggle not to throw up.

Even after that, and realizing how easy it was to breathe without him, and hooking up with Pam, she kept coming back here. She’d always decide to do it with the intent to kill him if he showed his face. Then when she got there, things got a lot more complicated and she got a lot more stupid. Every movement out of the corner of her eye had her wanting to squeal, “Mister J!”, instead of pulling the trigger.

She smacked herself on the forehead. “C’mon, Harl, get it together,” she hissed. She aimed at a patch of green mold on the wall, imagined it was the Joker’s head, and shot it. “See? Easy. You can do it for real.”

Once her ears stopped ringing from the sound of the gunshot, she heard a faint, frantic voice from one of the neighbors. She knew a 911 call when she heard one. You’d think everyone would be used to gunfire by now. This wasn’t exactly a nice part of town.

She got to her feet and stretched her arms above her head. “You’ll get ‘im next time,” she told herself. “Unless somebody already beat you to it.” She shoved the gun back in her bag. “Yeah, he's probably already dead. Maybe it was that Phoenix guy. That video I saw on YouTube of the fire flying off into the sky looked pretty Phoenix-y.”

She locked the door behind her and walked to the window at the end of the hall. “Why, though?” she asked herself. “Why would he go after Mi – the Joker? Getting rid of a potential competitor? Why leave the city right after, then? Was it revenge?” She climbed out the window. “It was probably revenge. You’re not the only one he hurt.”

She dropped down to the next window, landing nimbly on the sill. “I’m the one he hurt the most, though,” she growled. “What could he have done to him that he didn’t do to me? I shoulda been the one to kill him.”

She jumped and just barely managed to grab onto the railing of the fire escape. “Would you have?” she panted as she pulled herself up.

She took a moment to catch her breath before she started going down the stairs. “Shut up. Ugh, I’m never talking to you again.” It was a lie. Talking to herself was too ingrained of a habit to break so easily. For a very long time, she was the only one she’d been able to trust with what she was really feeling.

She pulled out her phone once she reached the ground and sent a text to Pam. _no show again._

She was quick to respond. _Good._

The ever-present wail of sirens grew louder, so Harley started walking as she texted. _so chinese and chill? ;)_

_Not tonight. These snapdragons are throwing a tantrum and it’ll take a while to calm them down._

_:(_

_Harley, no._

_Harley, yes!_

_When I say snapdragons, I mean something approximately as dangerous as a literal snapping dragon. I’ll take you to the arcade tomorrow._

That was a pretty good offer, but tomorrow felt a lifetime away. She needed someone _now_. She switched to the camera and put on her most pathetic and adorable puppy-dog pout. She was so busy perfecting the angle of her eyebrows that it took her a while to notice the woman standing behind her.

Harley whirled around and pulled out her gun. “Back off, lady, I ain’t in the mood!”

The woman was completely unfazed by having a gun in her face. She just looked at it impassively for a moment before making eye contact with Harley. She had gray eyes. Like how Harley used to imagine gray eyes would look like when she read the description in books before learning it usually just meant pale blue.

“I mean you no harm, Harleen Quinzel,” she said.

Yep, there went any lingering hope of this lady being normal. Maybe a little would still be clinging on if it had just been the whole ‘We come in peace’ shtick or the full name separately, but together? Buh-bye, hope, hello Weird with a capital W.

“You’re stalking me in Gotham, I find that a little hard to believe,” said Harley. “Who are you, exactly?”

Obviously, the weird woman didn’t give a straight answer. Harley suspected that Weird people were physically incapable of such things. “What do you know of the gods?”

Harley shrugged. “Apparently they’re real, but they musta forsaken this city a long time ago.”

The woman gave a small smirk. “A more apt assessment than you realize, I suspect. What do you know of the Greek gods, to be more precise?”

Harley was getting sick of this already. “Are you saying you’re one of them?”

“Would you believe me?”

Harley stared at her more closely. Those eyes were definitely Weird, and her face was so beautiful it was almost creepy, and she had that ‘regal’, snooty bearing you’d expect to see from a goddess. She shoved her gun back in her bag (even if this turned bad, she doubted it’d do much good) and said, “Eh, why not? Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen.”

For one blinding moment, the woman seemed to blaze with light, dressed in a white tunic and golden armor. As Harley muttered swears and tried to rub the spots out of her eyes, the woman said, “I am Athena, goddess of wisdom, and I have a task for you, Harleen Quinzel.”

Harley glared at her – or at least in the direction she hoped she was. She still couldn’t see properly. “Why me? I ain’t exactly the wisest person around.”

“Wisdom is not something anyone is born with. It is earned by walking treacherous paths with an open mind and a willingness to learn. This path is a treacherous one indeed, and I can sense how eager you are to better yourself.”

“Well, that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me I hate myself.”

Athena didn’t respond. Harley was kind of glad for it. She’d rather avoid having yet another conversation derail into her crying and the other person feeling obligated to comfort her.

Harley never liked silence, so she changed the subject. “So what path am I supposed to hike and how treacherous we talkin’?”

“What do you know of Phoenix?”

 _Speak of the devil… Or think about him, I guess. I don’t know why I’m surprised. She’s a goddess, she probably read my mind or something._ “Uh… He tried taking over the drug trade, left, came back, killed a bunch of people, and left again?”

“Are you aware that he has powers?”

“No, but I guess it’s not a surprise? Kinda hard to imagine someone without powers pulling the shit he did. Then again, I have it on good authority that no normal human being should be able to eat as many donuts at once as I can, so…”

Athena’s expression didn’t noticeably change, but Harley got the distinct impression that she was starting to regret her choice in champion. “Suffice it to say that he has considerable power, and as is so often the case, that power comes at a great price. He is being used as a host by an incredibly ancient and powerful being.”

Harley felt her face scrunch up in confusion. “Really? Why was some ancient and powerful being running drugs in Gotham?”

“It was only a means to an end. A destructive end that would have claimed far more lives had Phoenix not regained control of himself.”

Harley sighed. “How come it’s never the nice ‘ancient and powerful beings’ that possess people?”

Athena smiled. “Because they need not force mortals to obey them.”

“Right. They just tell mortals they’ve got a great opportunity for self-improvement.”

Athena went right back to a slight frown. “And if the mortal is not interested, they shall leave it at that.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” Harley clarified. “I just wanna know what I’m getting into.”

“So long as he is possessed, Phoenix is a danger to us all. I need you to help me create a device capable of weakening the bond between Phoenix and his possessor so that we can separate them for good.”

“How come you need my help to do that? Can’t you just use god magic or whatever?”

Athena seemed a bit annoyed by this. Whether it was Harley not immediately complying, or her pointing out there were things not even a goddess could do, Harley couldn’t tell. “The most important component of this device will be an object of sentimental value to Phoenix. If I were to search for it myself, it would draw too much attention. If word reaches Phoenix, the Entity will be prepared and make our task all but impossible. You would be beneath such notice.”

That made sense. It was why all the nameless errand boys/gals/nonbinary pals in Gotham got so much work. It was kinda hard for someone like Two-Face to grab a beer from the store. Harley was more surprised by the rest of the statement. “An object of sentimental value?”

“Seeing such an object will strengthen Phoenix’s personality and the dissonance between him and the Entity.”

That didn’t make as much sense. Then again, she shouldn’t have expected it to. Not when it came to goddesses and demonic (or whatever this entity was) possession. “Okay. Where am I supposed to find something like that?”

“That is for you to determine.”

Harley smirked. “You mean you don’t know.”

Athena gave her a look that had her instinctively shrinking away. “I will find you again once you’ve found it, and tell you what else is required.”

Harley blinked and she was gone. She blinked a few more times in quick succession out of sheer bafflement, because what the fuck just happened? Was she becoming completely delusional, now? Everything could easily be explained as a hallucination. She wasn’t exactly a picture of mental health, and she’d been trying out some new meds whose side-effects she’d skimmed rather than read. She really needed to start paying attention to those. Back in her licensed days, she would’ve smacked any patient that did that.

Hallucination or not, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do right now. And if Phoenix really did kill the Joker, it was worth tracking him down. Whether it would be to punch him or kiss him was TBD.

* * *

Jason was currently floating in the vacuum of space in an alternate universe, and the suggestion the Monitor had just made was still the most mind-boggling part of the situation. “You want me to _what_?”

“Communicate with that star,” the Monitor repeated in a casual tone like that was a normal thing to tell someone to do.

“And how the fuck am I supposed to communicate with a giant ball of fire?”

“Telepathically.”

Jason turned around and paced to and fro as he tried to wrap his mind around that. It still felt pretty weird to walk on literally nothing, but not in a difficult way. All he had to do was forget there wasn’t ground beneath him, and telekinesis did the rest.

Eventually, he managed to come to a somewhat logical conclusion. “Are you saying that stars are sapient?”

“Yes. They were among the first beings to gain sapience in our universe, and this one as well.”

“How is a ball of flaming gas sapient?”

“How is an oddly shaped bag of liquid such as yourself sapient?”

Jason didn’t feel qualified enough to give a lecture on the human brain, and honestly sapient stars weren’t the weirdest thing he’d ever heard of, so he let it go. “Is the moon sapient, too?”

“Not in our universe.”

Jason took a deep breath and turned to face the Monitor again. “Fine. Whatever. If I try to think about this any more, it’s going to give me more of a headache than actually talking to the star will.”

The Monitor simply stepped aside and gestured to the star. Jason closed his eyes and willed himself to fly towards it. He tried not to think about how stupid this idea was. He tried not to think about how much he’d rather be just scanning stuff with Donna and Kyle. He tried not to think in general.

Once the light started to get painfully bright even through his eyelids, he turned around and flew backwards. When even that got too bright for comfort he came to a stop. He dropped his barriers and allowed his mind to unfurl. It felt strangely good to be able to stretch his metaphorical psychic muscles without running into an overwhelming number of minds. There weren’t any minds at all. At least space was good for one –

Wait. There. Fully outstretched, his mind scraped against the edge of… something. Not quite the White Hot Room, but still hot and bright enough to send pain and blinding visions shuddering to the center of his mind. He instinctively recoiled, curling up into a fetal position both mentally and physically.

“What the fuck, Monitor?” he hissed. What was the point of this? He got his brain fried enough on his own, thank you very much.

With a gentle caress, the star sent his mental barriers tumbling down. Thankfully, it seemed content enough to linger at the edges, radiating curiosity. Getting rid of it by force clearly wasn’t an option, so Jason had little choice but to indulge it.

“I’m Jason.” Talking out loud was mostly pointless, but it helped him get his thoughts into a coherent shape.

The star didn’t feel the need for such coherence. It didn’t need to. The unabated curiosity communicated very well the fact that it didn’t care about his name.

“The Monitor told me to try talking to you,” Jason explained. “I’m not totally sure why. I guess it’s part of my ‘killing Darkseid’ training.”

The curiosity’s texture changed from _why_ to _how_.

“The Phoenix Force is using me as a host, so I’ve got telepathy. I guess it’s pretty powerful telepathy if we’re able to talk.”

A flash of recognition came from the star, along with a memory of a presence that felt nearly identical to the White Hot Room and a thought shaped a bit like _mother_ , but in a genderless, metaphysical sort of way.

“It’s your… parent? Or, I mean, the version from this universe is? Huh.” It wasn’t completely absurd. Stars were made of fire and light and heat, and when they exploded their essence went on to form… well… everything else. That was pretty similar to the Phoenix Force. Definitely more similar than Jason.

Curiosity returned, stronger than ever and again asking _why._ Strands of fire tried weaving their way into his memory, searching for an explanation. It was… unpleasant. No, not unpleasant, it was fucking agonizing, and an express ticket to the White Hot Room if he didn’t do something about it. With his mind so overwhelmed, Jason couldn’t quite hear what it was he yelled aloud nor properly transcribe what he thought. Something along the lines of _getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout,_ interspersed with panicked sobbing and futile attempts to force the star out.

Whatever it was he said, it worked. The star pulled back again and sent him an apology-shaped bundle of guilt.

“Be more careful next time,” Jason warned, wincing at the hoarseness in his throat. “Just because I’ve got access to the Phoenix’s power doesn’t mean my brain can actually handle that level of…” He couldn’t think of a word to accurately describe what he meant. Good thing they were communicating with thoughts, allowing the idea to come across loud and clear.

The _why_ was much gentler this time.

“It said it wanted a mortal perspective,” said Jason.

The star understood. It even empathized. He supposed that floating around in space for billions of years without many people to talk to could get pretty lonely. At least the stars could occasionally communicate and always understand each other. Did the Phoenix Force have anyone like that? Probably not. Maybe that was why it decided to take a host. Still, there must have been a catalyst, right? Beings that had remained aloof and uninvolved for billions of years didn’t randomly decide to change things up. What happened? What changed its mind? And why, of all the people both living and dead in the universe, had it chosen _him?_

The star gave the telepathic equivalent of a shrug.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know.” Jason sighed. “Do you think the Monitor will consider this enough? I mean, you seem pretty cool as far as stars go, but if we keep this up much longer my brain’s gonna melt.”

The star sent him a wave of acceptance, along with one of concern and, finally, a coherent sentence.

_Remember that you are only mortal, and it is not._

Jason knew how satisfying it was to get the last word in and make it something vague and somewhat threatening, plus he was starting to lose feeling in all of his body except his aching head, so he bid the star farewell and flew away.

His brain still felt like it was overclocking, but the great thing about travelling through space was the near complete lack of friction. Once you were going the right speed in the right direction, you could turn off the engine and just keep going until something got in the way. So, after a little acceleration, Jason was able to relax. A little bit, at least. He still had to keep an eye out for any asteroids or other obstacles, and talking with a star wasn’t a very good prelude to relaxation.

Eventually, the Monitor’s mind came back in range, nearly as big and incomprehensible as a star’s. Remembering what Martian Manhunter mentioned, Jason tried to simply pull back into himself rather than barricade himself in. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure it out. Why was it so hard? He’d spent most of his life living in only his own head. He’d gotten the impression from J’onn’s thoughts that most telepaths struggled with reaching out, not pulling back. Then again, most telepaths had a very different source of power.

“Thanks a lot,” Jason muttered as he erected his barriers, trusting that the Phoenix Force would hear. They were using the same ears, after all.

The Monitor floated within physical hearing range and asked, “How did it go?”

Jason shrugged. “Well, I talked to it and didn’t pass out, so mission accomplished, I guess.”

“Did it say anything to help our mission?”

It took Jason a second to remember what that mission was. Oh, right. Saving the multiverse. “No. You didn’t say I was supposed to ask about that.”

“No, I didn’t. I was simply curious.”

Jason gave him a good glare before he continued. “What was the point? Is this supposed to help me beat Darkseid?”

“Yes. Now that you know you can handle a consciousness as ancient as vast as that, Darkseid’s will seem much more manageable.”

“I’ve been dealing with the Phoenix Force for years. I think that’s ancient and vast enough.”

“And every time it makes itself known you lose consciousness. You cannot afford to do so with Darkseid.”

The Monitor pulled his device back out and frowned at it.

“We should leave this universe soon. Let us four reconvene and move on to the next.”


	21. A Harlequin, a Piper, and a Trickster Walk Into a Sewer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all you Countdown fans out there, let me warn you that this is less an adaptation and more of a Frankenstein's monster made up of the bits and pieces of it I like the most, so please don't get mad about inaccuracies.

Despite what many people might believe, Harley wasn’t stupid. Yeah, sure, letting a mass-murderer get in her head and play her like a fiddle wasn’t her brightest moment, and yeah, maybe she had to grease a few palms (amongst other parts) to get her degree, but she still had to write all those papers and properly cite her sources. She knew how to do research. And news articles were much easier to parse than academia.

Phoenix wasn’t exactly the easiest guy to track. Unlike most Gotham crime lords, he never blew up any monuments or held any concert halls full of rich people hostage, which meant he got a lot less news coverage than you’d expect with someone of his station. If ‘Drug Dealer Blows Up Rival’s Lab’ were news-worthy in Gotham, there’d never be time to report on anything else. The biggest story involving him was the fire in Amusement Mile, and the evidence linking him to that was fairly circumstantial. There were probably lots of things in the world that were able to fly off in a phoenix-shaped mass of fire.

He didn’t go out of his way to bring attention to himself. However, he didn’t seem too concerned about hiding. Looking through social media showed all sorts of sightings, and quite a few of them seemed like they could be legitimate. A lot of those sightings seemed to be from Phoenix saving some poor would-be victim and then vanishing into the night before he could be thanked. Huh. That was the kind of behavior Harley would expect from Batman or one of his little birds, not one of the criminals they tried to protect people from.

By the time sunlight started peeking through the blinds, Harley had a rough outline of what he’d been up to in the last year or so. There was zilch on him before he first showed up in Gotham. Clearly, he had a lot of training, but there wasn’t any data on where or how or who with, so Harley wasn’t going to worry about it. In Gotham, he acted like one of those ‘honorable’ bosses in mobster movies. The kind that tried not to hurt innocents and treated his people well. It didn’t look like that worked out so good for him. What a shock.

It looked like Black Mask enlisted the help of… what were their names again? She couldn’t remember, but she was pretty sure one of them was a Nazi. Anyway, they got in a fight with Phoenix, and then Batman got involved, and when the smoke cleared the Nazi guy was dead and everyone else scattered to the winds. Then Phoenix possibly set Amusement Mile on fire, possibly with the Joker in it, and flew off into the night.

There was literally nothing for over a month after that. Just wild speculation and a few badly photoshopped fake sightings. Then he popped up again in San Francisco, left again (possibly in a smaller phoenix-shaped mass of fire, those photos might be fake, too), and wandered across the country like a trigger-happy knight errant. Eventually he reached New York, scared everyone, probably got involved in a fight between Nightwing and Deathstroke, and left again. Boy, he really made a habit of that, didn’t he? More wandering, a recent sighting of him with Troia and a Green Lantern, and then… well, the present.

Harley shut her laptop and leaned back in her chair. None of this did much to point her in the direction of something he might have sentimental value for. Except maybe his guns, but she doubted he’d just hand them over because she asked nicely. And that was _if_ she could find him.

Did she have to find him? There were probably things he was attached to that he didn’t constantly carry on his person. Old childhood toys, maybe. Though she suspected trying to find his childhood home and/or family would be just as challenging. If Phoenix cared enough about random strangers to protect them, he probably cared enough about his family (or anyone else he’d trust with something of sentimental value) enough to make sure nobody would connect him to them. There was a reason people like him and Batman were so careful with their identities. Not that it had done Batman much good.

Harley pulled herself away from that train of thought. Now wasn’t the time to think about dead Robins. She was supposed to be thinking about a very different breed of bird.

Her task looked insurmountable. The best way to deal with stuff like that was to break it down into smaller, manageable tasks. In this case, the first of those tasks could be talking with people who’d interacted with Phoenix before. So, Batman, Black Mask’s buddies, Nightwing, and Deathstroke. She wasn’t exactly on any of their Christmas card lists. The Bats would probably try and arrest her on sight, and the others would probably try and shoot her on sight. But they were her only leads, and she could take care of herself.

Another quick search didn’t show where any of them were. Ugh. Couldn’t they have the decency to let someone take a selfie with them or something? Nightwing did it all the time, why not tonight? Or, er, today. How was it morning already?

She couldn’t figure anything out in this state, so she stumbled back to bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

She wasn’t a light sleeper, once upon a time. Long ago, in a life far, far away. Now, the buzz of her phone was more than enough to have her jerking awake. She tried to blink the bleariness (and lingering nightmares, but she wasn’t going to think about that) out of her eyes and fumbled for a few seconds until her fingers closed on it. Checking the screen showed that 1) it was nearly eleven in the morning, which was pretty good as far as her sleeping cycle went, and 2) Pam was calling her.

She accepted, pressed the phone to her ear, and burrowed back into the covers. “Mornin’, Red.”

“Good morning, Harley,” said Pam, sounding awfully relieved for a simple ‘good morning’. “Are you all right?”

Harley shrugged. “I guess? Why?"

“You gave up on Chinese and chill with barely any fight. I was worried.”

Shit, right. She’d forgotten all about that. Having a goddess show up with a quest did that to your plans. “Yeah, uh… something came up. Could I get a rain check on that arcade date?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Pam asked, sounding downright alarmed.

“Yeah, I’m fine! Like I said, something’s come up.”

“What happened?”

Harley sighed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“We live in Gotham.”

Harley had been hoping she could avoid explaining this all aloud and making Pam think she was becoming full-on delusional, but she couldn’t come up with an argument to that. Gotham was already so goddamn weird. “Fine. Apparently, that Phoenix guy from a while back is possessed and the goddess Athena wants me to help un-possess him.”

Pam was silent for a few moments. “You were right, that is very difficult to believe.”

“Told ya.”

“Is he possessed by some sort of mythological Greek deity?” Pam asked.

“I’m… not sure? Athena didn’t specify. She just said it was ‘ancient’ and ‘powerful’ and it wants to destroy stuff.”

“Let’s assume it’s something Greek, then.” In the background, Harley could hear the hum of a computer being booted up. “Any other details?”

Harley bit her lip in thought. “Not that I remember.”

The cynical part of her whispered, _Funny, isn’t it, how she gave you just enough information to have you doing what she wants and nothing more._

Harley ignored it. Gods were supposed to be weird and kinda asshole-ish, right? She didn’t remember too much about Greek mythology, but she definitely remembered thinking they seemed like assholes. It made sense that even Athena, who she was pretty sure was one of the nicer ones, would be a bit of a dick. Besides, she was a goddess of wisdom, right? Wasn’t part of wisdom figuring shit out yourself instead of just having the information handed to you? So, in essence, shut up, cynicism.

Pam let out a thoughtful _hmm._ Harley knew that that particular pitch of _hmm_ meant she was gearing up for a difficult research session. “I’m hardly an expert on myth, but I’ll try to narrow it down, at least.”

“Thanks!” Harley chirped, rolling out of bed. Even over the phone, Pam’s determination was infecting her with the need to do something productive, too. “While you do that, I’ll try and track down some people who’ve interacted with Phoenix. What’s the latest location of Batman or Nightwing?”

Pam always kept a careful eye on any news or social media posts on the Bats. Know your enemy and all that. “As usual, it seems they’ve retired for the day.”

Of course. If a photo of that glorified fursuit in the light of day got onto the internet, nobody would ever be able to look at Batman again without laughing. “Phooey. Don’t suppose you know where Deathstroke is?”

The moment of silence before Pam spoke filled Harley with hope. Hope that, shockingly wasn’t immediately crushed. “Actually, I just saw him this morning. He captured some idiots lumbering around my garden.”

Harley was legitimately not certain how to deal with things finally going her way for once. “Holy moly, I guess destiny really is real! Any idea where he is now?”

“Trying to claim the bounty on them, I would imagine.”

Harley put the call on speakerphone and pulled up Twitter. “All righty, then. I’ll track him down, you do some narrowing. TTYL!”

Pam let out an exasperated, long-suffering sigh, but she seemed to realize that repeating herself on the ‘every time you verbally use slang acronyms a little bit of my soul dies’ thing would be useless at this point. “Call me when you find him.”

Harley made a kissy sound into the speaker and hung up, devoting her attention to her research. In this case, ‘research’ meant ‘scrolling through #OnlyInGotham’. She doubted that the average Gothamite would recognize an outsider like Deathstroke on sight, but she didn’t doubt that seeing a dude in a weird mask with a sword would pop up on the hashtag, especially if he was dragging some poor idiots along to their doom.

Quite a few giggles and empathetic sighs later, she hit bingo. Some exhausted nightshift worker wanting to know if they were hallucinating had taken a photo of Deathstroke and two incredibly freaked-out looking guys in outfits so ridiculous they had to be supervillains. Superheroes could never reach quite that level of gaudy. There was a street sign in the shot. It wasn’t too far from her place, and the picture was posted about twenty minutes ago. With a bit of luck and a few broken traffic laws, she should be able to catch up.

In the end, she broke more than a few traffic laws, along with whatever laws were involved with shaking the police off your tail. Good thing she hadn’t bothered switching back to her ‘legit’ license plates since her last not-so-legit excursion. She was in the clear by the time she reached the spot of the photo. She pulled out her phone to check which direction Deathstroke had been moving in it, and followed the trail. There was an office building that way that had a _very_ lax contract when it came to renting rooms, which made it quite the hotspot for the kind of business said contract-writers could safely claim they had no knowledge of when they rented the room out. Perfect for collecting a bounty from somebody as wanted by the authorities as Deathstroke.

She was already trying to think of ways to say hello without getting shot when the car gave a sudden lurch, like she’d just run over a pothole. A really deep pothole. The kind of pothole that didn’t really happen in Gotham anymore. Hooray for whichever supermodel Bruce Wayne was trying to impress when he made that donation to the infrastructure department.

She pulled over and stuck her head out the window to see what she’d run over. It looked like an open manhole. Once she stopped giggling at the word, she remembered hearing a metallic clattering when she’d gone over it. Maybe the cover hadn’t been put back on properly, and her driving over it sent it tumbling into the sewer. It might have just been a lazy sanitation worker, but Harley didn’t believe much in coincidence at the best of times. At times where she was following a miraculous lead at the behest of a goddess?

It was a pretty nice stretch of sewer, all things considered. She barely even gagged at the smell. Still, she was definitely going to have to burn these shoes once this was over. It was really going to be such a shame to _have_ to buy some more. Ooh, maybe she could get another pair of heelies!

The faint sound of splashing echoed through the sewer. Whoever was down here either didn’t care about being found, or hadn’t spent enough time in sewers to realize how far sound could travel. Harley was hardly an expert herself, but she’d spent enough time avoiding police down here to keep the splashing and noise to a minimum as she followed the sound.

As she got closer, the sounds of hushed voices joined the splashing. A bit closer, and she could tell it was two different voices, and they seemed to be arguing. It was definitely the whisper-arguing of people trying not to be heard, though, which firmly cemented them as both not wanting to be found and not experienced enough in subterranean travel to accomplish it. Or maybe they were just stupid.

Speaking of stupid, maybe these were those guys in the stupid outfits from the photo. Deathstroke didn’t seem the type to let his captives chat, so if it was them, they must’ve managed to get away from him and were trying to escape or hide in the sewers. They were going to fail at this rate, so Harley had better catch up to them first, then talk with Deathstroke once he turned up.

Eventually, she got close enough to hear what they were arguing about. “Well, what was the point of coming down here, then?” one of them hissed. It sounded male, and more than a little desperate.

“Nothing, I guess!” the other snapped. Also male and desperate, and also clearly annoyed.

Harley was ninety-nine percent sure she’d been in this part of the sewer before, and that she could take a side-tunnel to cut them off. The change in direction muted their voices a little, but she could still make them out.

“Nothing? I’ll have to burn these boots for _nothing_?”

“I said I didn’t realize how loud my flute would be!”

“Do you realize how hard it is to replace anti-gravity boots?”

“Are you saying you, the genius Trickster, didn’t make the umpteenth iteration of your greatest invention waterproof?”

“Waterproof and shitproof are very different things, Piper!”

Trickster and Piper, huh? The names were familiar, but Harley couldn’t quite remember which supervillains they were. She never paid much attention to anyone operating outside of Gotham. It sounded like they were getting pretty close, so she decided now was as good a time to introduce herself as any.

“Well, well, well,” she said, stepping into their path. “What do we have here?”

The lighting wasn’t exactly the greatest, but it was enough to see the shock in Trickster and Piper’s expressions. It was also enough to see Trickster pull something out of a pouch and Piper raise a flute to his mouth. Not typical weapons, but you couldn’t expect guys dressed like _that_ to use anything typical. And she knew very well that non-typical didn’t mean non-dangerous.

She raised her hands to show they were weapon-free. Sure, that was because she’d stupidly left her hammer in the car rather than a desire for non-violence, but they didn’t need to know that. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there, boys. I’m just here to talk.”

She was pretty sure it was Trickster that said, “I know this is Gotham, but if you came down here to talk to people, you’ve got issues, lady.”

“My issues are completely unrelated to this, thank you very much!” She took a moment to collect herself so she could continue to be non-threatening. “You didn’t close the manhole properly, and I wanted to see who nearly ruined my car.”

Piper whirled on Trickster and hissed, “You didn’t close it properly?!”

Even in second-rate sewer lighting, she could see Trickster go a few shades paler. “I thought I did!”

“Don’t worry, there was probably some literal divine intervention messing with you,” Harley assured him.

Trickster and Piper stared at her like… Well, like she’d just claimed divine intervention messed with a manhole cover, so it was pretty well-deserved.

In the distance, she thought she heard a splash. _Sounds like the guest of honor’s arrived._ She quickly kicked at the ‘water’ playfully, hoping they’d assume the sound came from her and didn’t get suspicious. “Oh, cheer up, it was just a joke! So, what’re you doin’ down here?”

“Running,” said Piper. “And if it’s all the same to you, we’d like to get back to it.”

Harley nodded in sage understanding, ears pricked for any more splashing sounds. Nothing. Deathstroke must have a lot of experience sneaking around in sewers. “Who from? You wouldn’t wanna climb out right in the middle of their territory.”

“He doesn’t have territory,” said Piper. He nudged Trickster and started walking. “Come on, we need to keep moving.”

Shit. Harley scurried to keep up with him. “Well, now I’m curious!” she said, looking him up and down with only mildly faked appreciation. He _was_ pretty cute, but now wasn’t the time to let that distract her. “I take it you aren’t from around here. You guys aren’t metas, are you? Batman doesn’t like those. Is he the one you’re running from?”

Trickster caught up with them. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I _wish_ we were running from Batman right now. At least we’d know he wouldn’t kill us.”

“If Deathstroke wanted to kill us, he would’ve done it already,” said Piper.

Harley had to stretch her acting muscles to look surprised. “Deathstroke, huh? Sucks to be you, I guess. Why’s he after you? Did you do something good enough to piss him off, or did you do something bad enough to get a bounty on your head?”

It took Harley a few steps to realize they’d both stopped in their tracks. She turned around, expecting to see Deathstroke. She herself froze when she saw the expression on their faces. She’d looked in the mirror enough to know what guilt looked like.

“Something bad,” said Piper, sounding and looking like he might throw up at the thought of whatever he’d done.

“We didn’t do anything!” claimed Trickster, with all the certainty of somebody who didn’t dare think too much about the alternative. “We just got tricked and left holding the gun!”

“Yes, we didn’t do anything to stop it, and now he’s _dead,_ ” Piper practically snarled.

“Oookay, deep breaths, buddy,” said Harley, glancing over her shoulder to see if Deathstroke was there to rescue her from the downer this conversation had suddenly become. He wasn’t. Sigh. “You can beat yourself up to your heart’s content once you aren’t being hunted down in the sewers.”

“Yeah,” said Trickster, shaking off any last vestige of remorse. “Maybe by then, you’ll remember that Inertia’s the one we should be beating up.”

Piper didn’t look very comforted by the thought, lapsing into a brooding silence that would’ve made Batman proud.

Silence would make it harder for Deathstroke to track them, so Harley broke it. “So, you guys got a bounty, huh? How much money we talkin’?”

“Enough to make me wish I could claim the bounty myself,” Trickster sighed.

“Well, I mean…” Harley glanced meaningfully at Piper and raised an eyebrow.

She was surprised at how quickly and firmly Trickster said, “No.”

Harley didn’t bother hiding her shock and confusion. “You do realize that the whole ‘honor among thieves’ thing is bullshit, right?”

Trickster’s face gave a weird twitch, like he’d realized how nice he sounded and didn’t like it. “Don’t see how I could turn him in without getting myself caught, too,” he claimed.

“How touching.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Harley sighed, turning to face Deathstroke. “How’d it take you that long to catch up with the racket we were making? Getting slow in your old age, Wilson?”

“You… You were working with him?” Trickster asked, sounding very betrayed considering they’d only met, like, five minutes ago.

“No,” said Deathstroke. “I don’t know who you are, woman, but step aside. I’ve got a job to do.”

Harley stepped toward him. “I’ve got a job to do, too.” She held out a hand. “Harley Quinn. You mighta heard of me.”

As expected, Deathstroke didn’t shake her hand, because he was a Big Bad Mercenary with a Reputation™. “What does the Joker want?” he growled.

Harley felt her face twitch. “Even if he isn’t burning in hell right now, I don’t care what he wants. I’m here for me.”

Deathstroke abruptly pulled out a gun and pointed it at Trickster and Piper. “Don’t even think about it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Harley saw Trickster drop something back into a pouch and raise his hands in surrender. He also shot her a look so venomous she actually felt a little guilty about using him as bait.

Harley had gotten so caught up in talking with him and Piper that she’d forgotten to hammer out the fine points of her script for this conversation. Looks like she was winging it. Ah, well. She’d done better with worse. “I heard you had a run in with Phoenix a little while ago. I’ve been hired to get rid of his powers, and I’m gonna need more intel to do it.”

Deathstroke’s body language tensed at the mere mention of Phoenix, so the moments he took to consider her words were obviously just for show. “What sort of intel?” he asked.

Asking bluntly if Phoenix had any knickknacks he was fond of would just make Deathstroke think she was crazy. Well, he probably already thought she was crazy, and it was kind of true, but there was a difference between ‘interesting and dangerous’ crazy and ‘there is literally no point in talking to you’ crazy. “Do you know if there’s anything or anyone he wouldn’t want to lose?” she asked instead.

“If I did, he would’ve already lost them.” Even with the mask on, Harley could tell that Deathstroke was thinking something over and weighing his options carefully. Eventually, he asked, “You’re sure you can get rid of his powers?”

Harley shrugged. “I’m not really sure about anything anymore, but the odds’ll be a lot better if you tell me what I want to know.”

Trickster made a sudden movement, and just as suddenly the sound of a gunshot echoed through the sewer loud enough to make Harley’s ears ring. Even before her hearing came back, she could see Trickster mouthing swears as he clutched at his hand. It looked like Deathstroke shot something sharp out of his hand, and it did some damage on the way out.

She wasn’t totally certain because, y’know, tinnitus, but she was pretty sure Deathstroke said, “Strike two, Jesse. One more, and I won’t care how much less they’d pay me for a corpse.”

Trickster shot him a glare that might have been threatening if he weren’t dressed like a second-rate circus performer.

Deathstroke looked back at Harley. “I don’t know who he doesn’t want to lose, but I do know two people who wouldn’t want to lose _him_.”

Harley grinned. “Great!” The smile faded just as quickly when she realized, “Wait, if you know that, why haven’t you tried following those leads yourself?”

“Because they’re Nightwing and Talia al Ghul.”

Nightwing? That kinda made sense, if he was involved in whatever went down in New York. Talia al Ghul, though… Talia al Ghul… It took Harley a little while to remember where she knew that name from. “You mean the Assassin lady? Likes wearing sexy catsuits? Can do a backflip in high heels?”

“Yes. Phoenix was her student at one point, and she still has a soft spot for him. I have no idea how Nightwing knows him, but he was more upset when I killed Phoenix than when I destroyed his city.”

Harley blinked a couple times, just in case that worked on auditory misunderstandings. “Did you just say you already killed Phoenix?”

“Yes, and five minutes later he was back up and putting me out of commission for weeks. You can see why I doubt you can pull… whatever it is you’re going to try off.”

All righty, then. Resurrection. Sounded pretty possession-y. “It’s worth a shot, though, right? Any idea where I can find Nightwing or al Ghul?”

“No, and you’ve wasted enough of my time.” Deathstroke stepped toward Trickster and Piper. For some reason Harley couldn’t identify, she stepped in front of them. “What are you doing?”

Harley had no idea. She just didn’t like the idea of leaving Trickster and Piper to whatever fate awaited them. Whatever it was that they’d done, and whoever had died, it was obvious that they felt bad about it. Didn’t that count for something? Didn’t they deserve a chance to be better? Wasn’t there hope that one day they could look in the mirror and not see the person that hurt so many people because she was so – Oh. That was the reason.

“I could use some help,” she said. It wasn’t like it wasn’t true. “And it’s not like these guys have anything better to do.”

Deathstroke turned the gun on her, and it was honestly sad how that didn’t even make her flinch anymore. “You really are insane,” he said.

Harley really, _really_ shouldn’t have left her hammer behind. She couldn’t let that show, though. If Deathstroke smelled the blood in the water, they were all screwed. “Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “But I’m also the one with the best chance of making sure the next time you kill Phoenix is permanent, and those chances will get even better if I’ve got some help.”

She wished Deathstroke wasn’t wearing his mask, because his expression at that moment was definitely hilarious. “From _them_?”

Harley didn’t dare look back at Trickster and Piper. Partly because Deathstroke might take it as an invitation to attack, partly because having to see the Trickster’s outfit again might make her change her mind on the whole ‘saving him’ thing. “I mean, they got away from you. They can’t be _totally_ incompetent.”

“Hey!” Trickster whined. “I’ll have you know I –“ Something went _thump,_ and Trickster went _squawk!_

“Shut up,” Piper hissed.

“What matters more to you, Deathstroke?” Harley asked. “Money, or revenge?”

Deathstroke’s mask was completely inscrutable. Harley didn’t know much about ancient Greek prayer customs, but she really hoped that Athena was listening to her internal mantra of _Please work please work please work please work_ and lent a hand.

Finally, whatever his reasons may be, he lowered the gun. “You owe me,” he promised as he slipped it into its holster. “If I don’t get paid back in Phoenix’s blood…”

Harley let out a sigh of relief disguised as an annoyed huff. “Yeah, yeah, you’re very scary and big and strong. Let’s go, boys.” She turned and marched back the way she came.

They walked in silence for a while, save for splashing. She wasn’t surprised when it was Trickster that found his voice first.

“So, was _all_ of that bullshit, or just most of it?” he asked.

Harley cackled and said, “Lying bullshit? Just a little. Weird, nonsensical, what the fuck is going on bullshit? All of it.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Piper grumbled.

“Maaaybe."

“So, who’s this Phoenix guy?” Trickster asked. “And why do you want to get rid of his powers?”

Harley grinned at him. “I’ll tell you once we’re in better lighting. I’ve gotta film your reactions to this bullshit. For posterity’s sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only realized partway through writing this that I don't know enough about Trickster and Piper to feel confident writing them, and by then it was too late, so feel free to tell me if they're too OOC.  
> Also, I wanted to thank you all for making this the Batman/X-Men crossover with the most kudos and bookmarks that doesn't include the MCU or Harry Potter. I know that might not sound like much, but I'm pretty proud of it, and I'm proud and thankful for all of you who made that happen.


	22. Sucker Punchline

Going through a trans-universal portal was far from the worst thing Jason had ever experienced, but he wouldn’t recommend it, either. Especially with people who’ve done it before while they were conscious so you were the only one that went tumbling to the ground in an embarrassing heap and couldn’t move into a more dignified position because you felt like you’d throw up if you so much as twitched.

“You okay, Phoenix?” Kyle asked.

Jason mustered all his strength to give him the finger.

“Yup, you’re fine,” said Kyle, infuriatingly amused. “So, which Earth are we on now?”

“Earth-3,” said the Monitor. Something about his tone of voice set off alarm bells in Jason’s head, but he was too busy not throwing up to do anything about it.

“Anything we should know about it?” Donna asked.

The Monitor hesitated a moment before speaking, which made the alarm bells get quite a few decibels louder. “Only that we should leave Earth as quickly as possible. Other than that, we can do the same as we did in the last universe.”

Jason groaned at the thought of getting his brain scorched by another star.

Kyle sighed. “More random, useless scanning. Great. Does this universe at least have a Shloogorgh’s? I could really use a space burger.”

“Not as you would know it,” said the Monitor carefully. “I would suggest you all avoid anywhere familiar.”

By that point, Jason felt well enough to raise his head and give the Monitor as suspicious a look as he could with the helmet on. “Why?”

“… It would not be as you know it.” His tone was the vocal equivalent of somebody with bare feet trying to navigate a floor covered in broken glass. “As I understand, such things can be upsetting.”

Jason may not have a lot of energy at the moment, but it was still too much for him to ignore such obvious avoidance. “Yeah, we know things are different, it’s an alternate universe,” he said. “We’re not going to go into an existential crisis because the Starbucks is in the wrong place. What’s the problem?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the Monitor. “Let’s go.”

It was sorely tempting to just read his mind to get the truth, but it would also feel too much like cheating for Jason to get any satisfaction from it. He clambered to his feet and silently vowed to do some investigating to see what was up in this universe. Once his head stopped spinning, it was clear enough for him to finally properly take in his surroundings. They were in a dirty alley nearly identical to the ones he’d see in Gotham. Actually, scratch the ‘nearly’…

“Well, looks like it’s too late to avoid anywhere familiar,” he said. “This is Gotham.” He eyed the discarded condoms and needles, and the bloodstains. “Doesn’t look any different from ours so far.”

A gunshot fired nearby, followed by screams and shouts. Jason took a moment to make a ‘see, what did I tell you’ gesture before he ran towards the sound to help. Donna quickly followed, along with Kyle, in full Green Lantern resplendence, which was not ideal even in their own universe.

“Turn off the night light,” Jason shouted over the gunfire and screaming. “We don’t need the attention.”

Kyle pouted (it was easier to think of that expression as a pout rather than a concerned frown, because Jason had had enough of people worrying about him), but he slipped off the ring. After a slight stumble once he stopped floating, he kept running alongside them, though. Jason hoped he could throw a punch, because there wasn’t time to tell him to fall back.

They turned a corner and saw the source of the commotion. It was a full-blown shootout right in the middle of the street. Cars being used for cover, innocent civilians caught in the crossfire lying bleeding on the ground, the whole shebang. Shocking as it may sound to outsiders, this sort of thing wasn’t actually common in the Gotham Jason knew. At least, not anymore. The constant threat of Batman encouraged gangs to go with more subtle approaches. Maybe it was rare in this universe, too, and it was just bad luck that made this their first impression. If it _was_ common, then…

Jason shook himself and pulled out a gun. He could try and deduce what was wrong with this universe once these bastards were… Okay, maybe not dead, because he didn’t want to waste time getting lectured by Donna. Once these bastards were out of commission for the foreseeable future. That was acceptable for everyone, right? Right.

Before he could pull the trigger, another sound joined the chorus, one just as familiar to Jason as gunfire and screams.

Laughter. Familiar, manic laughter that had Jason’s entire body go rigid. He accidentally pulled the trigger and shot a hole in the concrete. His muscles refused to move to accommodate the recoil, and the gun fell out of his hands and clattered to the ground.

 _It isn’t him,_ insisted the rational part of his mind. _You know what he sounds like. It’s similar, yes, but it’s not quite cruel enough to be him._

 _It’s him,_ insisted the rest of his being. _It’s him, it’s him, it’s him it’s him it’shimit’shimit’s_

Breathe in. Breathe out. It isn’t him. All Jason had to do was open his eyes and see it for himself.

He opened his eyes. He found green and purple ( _the wrong combination, this guy has purple hair and a green suit, not the other way around_ ), a weapon swinging in a blur of motion ( _a hammer, not a crowbar, it’s not a crowbar_ ), and pale skin spattered with red and an unnaturally wide grin ( _it’s… it’s… there must be an explanation, it can’t be…_ )

In what might have been moments and felt like hours, the voice of reason grew quieter and quieter, drowned out by memories. Everything was getting drowned out. _His_ mouth wasn’t moving, but he could still hear the laughter. It was harder and harder to remember that the pain in his fingers was from the recoil, not desperately clenching and clawing at the floor as if he’d be able to dig through and get away. As everything got paler, the street started looking more and more like a bloodstained floor, the buildings more like dusty shelves and walls trapping him, that woman nursing a wound more and more like Sheila.

A hand grabbed him by the arm ( _a large hand with thick fingers, not him, not him, it’s not him, just listen to me, it’s not him_ ), and he was floating, untethered, alone, in a sky full of stars. It didn’t help. All it did was give his mind a blank canvas to paint in black, white, red, and pain.

* * *

By this point in her career, Donna was used to having to react to things happening in rapid succession. Even with all that experience, she still wasn’t sure what the hell just happened. That probably had something to do with the fact that she’d slammed into a wall with enough force to leave a cartoonish Troia-shaped dent in the brick. Amazonian durability or not, it hurt like a bitch and left her brain a little scrambled.

She took in her surroundings, hoping she’d see something that would explain why she felt so panicked and convinced that there was someone she had to help. The Monitor was nearby, kneeling next to a prone Kyle. She could see his back rising and falling with breath, so she hoped the Monitor’s vast interdimensional knowledge included basic first aid and turned her attention elsewhere.

The street was… ‘Destroyed’ wasn’t quite the right word. Damaged, definitely. Melted, in certain parts. Judging by the scars in the street, the epicenter of whatever had happened was right where… right where Jason had been standing.

Donna swore to herself and scanned the street for Jason. How could a six-foot-tall wall of muscle in a brightly colored helmet disappear so quickly and completely? She moved to search more thoroughly, but she was distracted by all the people caught up in the blast that didn’t have the same powers as her, Kyle, or Jason. Jason would understand. Even if he wasn’t the hero he once was, he’d want them to take care of the civilians first. At least, that’s what she hoped.

Thankfully, it looked like she and Kyle (and possibly the Monitor) took the brunt of the damage. She didn’t see any imminently fatal wounds that weren’t already caused by gunfire. Still, she’d better call in some ambulances as soon as possible. She pulled out her phone and winced at the cracks in the screen. Her heart soared for a moment when it turned on, and sank just as quickly when she realized that her service plan was barely international, much less interuniversal. She didn’t see a payphone around, either. She looked around for any sign of movement, hoping she’d find somebody conscious willing to let her use their phone. She’d rather avoid rifling through unconscious civilian’s pockets. That was just asking for somebody to take a picture and cause a scandal.

There! The movement was slight, and likely would have been unnoticeable if the person hadn’t been wearing such a bright green suit, but it was definitely a sign that somebody was conscious. Donna rushed over, getting more worried with every step as she noticed the bloodstains and how pale their exposed skin was. Then they raised their head, and she froze in her tracks.

Even if she’d been lucky enough to never see him in person, Donna knew what the Joker looked like. And she knew what he’d done.

She turned and desperately scanned the debris for any sign of a fiery helmet. “Jason?” she called out.

The Monitor materialized next to her, perhaps literally, perhaps not. “He isn’t here,” he said.

Donna fought down the urge to grab him by lapels of his stupid suit and shake him until he gave a straight answer. “Then where is he?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“When he began to lose control, I teleported him to the vastest expanse of empty space in this universe,” he explained. Under other circumstances, she might have found his calm tone soothing. Right now, it just made her angrier. “He shouldn’t be able to cause any more damage.”

Donna took a deep breath to calm herself. Now wasn’t the time to scream at him about how he could have possibly thought completely isolating somebody in the middle of a PTSD attack was a good idea. As awful as it was, Jason would be physically fine once the worst of it passed. These people wouldn’t be if she didn’t help them.

Though maybe she shouldn’t bother helping at least one of them.

She gave the Joker a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t about to attack her from behind. It was still a long enough look to tempt her into punching his skull in here and now.

“Is this why you wanted us to leave?” she asked.

“In a way,” said the Monitor. “This universe is something of a mirror to ours, at least when it comes to morality. I feared you would find it upsetting to see a counterpart to someone you care about that you would consider evil.”

Donna turned back to the Joker, or at least this universe’s counterpart. The Joker she knew of had green hair, not purple. Maybe that wasn’t the only difference. “Does that mean _he’s_ good here?”

“Most likely, yes.”

She immediately felt guilty for wanting to kill him so badly. She also felt guilty about the hatred and revulsion still clawing at her throat when she looked at him. It wasn’t his fault that his alternate self was such a monster. She shoved all those feelings down to kneel next to him and ask, “Hey, are you all right?”

Maybe it was just because they were still a little unfocused, but his eyes seemed to lack the mad gleam from the photos. “Nope, still got my left parts!” he slurred out between giggles.

She held out a hand to help him up. His expression sharpened into something more suspicious.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he said. “Or have I, and that hit messed my head up even more?”

“I’m… visiting. Do you have a phone? These people need help.”

The not-Joker jerkily rose to his feet, leaning heavily on his hammer for support. “Stopped using phones a while ago. Might as well make it easier for Owlman and just call him to say ‘Hello! I’m here, come kill me!’”

Donna felt her brow furrow in confusion. “Owlman?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the Monitor. “As you can hear, the authorities are on their way, and we have more important matters to attend to.”

Donna pricked her ears and heard the sirens approaching. Help was on the way. They could handle this, while Donna, Kyle, and Jason (once he tired himself out) could handle whatever the mysterious threat was. Still, the thought of just leaving went against the grain of her being.

She turned to check on Kyle. He was on his feet, rolling a shoulder and wincing slightly. He saw her looking at him and walked over. There was a slight limp in his step, but at least it looked like he hadn’t broken anything.

“What’s going –“ He froze when he spotted the not-Joker. “Is that…?”

“Alternate universe,” Donna reminded him. “Apparently in this one our heroes are villains and our villains are heroes.”

While Kyle silently puzzled that out, the not-Joker spoke up. “Well, this all sounds very mysterious and exciting! I’d love to hear more, but I’d love to not get arrested even more. I’ve got a lovely little place not too far from here where nobody but the roaches will hear us!”

“You’ve just met us, and you’re already inviting us to your home?” Donna asked, confused.

The not-Joker laughed. Even if he was a ‘hero’, the sound still made the hairs on the back of Donna’s neck stand on end. “Oh, no, that’s not _home_ home,” he clarified. “It’s _don’t mind if it gets blown up_ home!”

Kyle suddenly gasped. “Wait, where’s Phoenix?”

“In space,” said the Monitor. “Where we should also go as soon as possible to –“

“To do more useless scanning?” Donna snapped. “Do you honestly expect us to find anything?”

The Monitor didn’t stoop to such petty levels as glaring, but the look he gave her was a great deal colder than it had been a couple seconds ago. “It is possible,” he said.

The not-Joker stepped between them. “Okay, okay, let’s all calm down and, more importantly, leave before the cops show up, all right? My place is very good for shouting at each other. Just listen to my neighbors!”

“Let’s go, then.” Donna glared at the Monitor. “If you don’t want to come, you can go get Phoenix and do the scanning yourself.”

She hadn’t actually expected the Monitor to take her up on the offer and vanish with a change in pressure that made her ears pop. That was her fault for forgetting how inhuman beings like him always seemed to take everything literally.

The not-Joker blinked at the empty space where the Monitor had been before turning back to Donna. “Aww, I was gonna make popcorn for the show. Ah, well! Less time for arguing means more time for explaining!”

He didn’t ask any more questions (apart from those involved in bad jokes Donna and Kyle weren’t in the mood to indulge) as he led them back to his safehouse, or whatever it was. ‘Whatever’ turned out to be an apartment in worse state than some she’d seen in condemned buildings. Donna didn’t dare sit on the couch in case it broke in half under her, even after seeing the not-Joker sprawl on it with nothing worse than a few shrieking springs.

She launched into an explanation before the not-Joker could try and tell another joke. Even if he was not the Joker, Donna still didn’t fully trust him, so she left out as many details as she could. All he needed to know was that they were from another universe, hiding from someone and trying to save the multiverse.

Unfortunately, the not-Joker – or Jokester, as he'd introduced himself – was brighter than she’d hoped. “You said something about heroes and villains being switched, right?” he asked. “Does that mean Owlman’s good in your universe?”

“We don’t have an Owlman,” said Kyle. “We’ve got a guy called Batman. He can be a real jerk, but when it comes down to it, he’s all right, I guess.”

Donna tried not to let her dread show as the Jokester’s thoughtful expression didn’t go away. _Please don’t ask if you’re bad, please don’t ask if you’re bad, please don’t –_

For the first time since they’d met, the Jokester’s smile wilted somewhat. “What about me, then?”

Donna suspected that her expression held all the answers he needed. And if it didn’t, Kyle’s definitely did.

The Jokester let out a shrill, nervous laugh and said, “That bad, huh?”

“You don’t have anything to do with him,” said Donna, partly to reassure him and partly to remind herself of the fact.

Before that train of thought could go any further, there came an ear-popping change in pressure and a thud as the Monitor reappeared carrying Jason.

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Did he pass out _again?_ ” The amused exasperation quickly switched to concern. “Wait, is his leg supposed to look like that?”

Donna’s throat went painfully tight as she realized that no, no healthy human leg should look like that. Or human arm. And that was _definitely_ blood dripping onto the carpet. She rushed over to get a better look at him. Even through the helmet, she could tell his breathing was far too labored and wet. The fact that he was badly injured was painfully obvious, but the wounds themselves weren’t. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see any tears in his clothes or any dents in his armor. Surely they would’ve been damaged, too, right?

She fumbled at the clasps on his helmet until it came off. It quickly fell from her limp fingers as she saw Jason’s face. Ugly bruises and swelling were already blooming and making him nearly unrecognizable. His hair was shiny and matted with blood, and dark lines of it trickled down from his hairline and the corner of his mouth.

In a blur of motion, the Monitor lowered Jason to the ground, grabbed the helmet, and wrapped it up in his cape. Before Donna could even wonder why he would do that, there came the muffled sound and shockwave of an explosion. The Monitor pulled the charred remains of the helmet out and carelessly dropped it to the ground.

Donna could worry about what was going through Jason’s head when he put explosives in a helmet he wore later. Right now, there were more important things to worry about. “What happened?” she asked as she checked his pulse. It was steady, thank God. Or maybe the Phoenix Force.

“I don’t know,” said the Monitor. “There weren’t any signs of another presence, so I assume he accidentally injured himself.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” muttered Kyle, touching the bloodiest part of Jason’s hair and wincing at what he felt. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

The Monitor waved a hand dismissively. “No need for that. I’ve ensured he won’t die from his injuries, and healing himself will be a valuable lesson.”

“What, you’re just gonna let him bleed all over my carpet?” said the Jokester.

The Monitor scanned the floor. “You’re right. It’s far too unhygienic. He’d likely get an infection.”

“What, you wouldn’t consider that a learning opportunity?” Donna growled.

“I understand that this method is a harsh one,” said the Monitor. “I would not have chosen this lesson of my own volition. However, now that the opportunity has presented itself, I will not pass it up. As I understand it, pain is an excellent motivator.”

Donna was sorely tempted to give him a little ‘motivation’ of his own. Before she could forget all the reasons punching an overseer of the multiverse was a bad idea, Jason stirred with a soft moan of pain. She ignored the instinctive stab of sympathy and urge to comfort him in order to turn to the Jokester and say, “You need to leave.”

He covered his genuine confusion with a look of mock annoyance. “It’s _my_ fake name on the lease, missy! If anyone’s kicking anyone out, it should be me!”

Jason’s eyes were open now, glazed and unfocused. If Dick’s weird ninja training was anything to go by, they wouldn’t stay that way long.

“He can’t see you,” Donna insisted. “The you from our universe…” Explaining the truth would take too long and make the Jokester too upset to listen to her. “Phoenix hates him. He won’t react well if he sees you.”

The Jokester’s eyes darted between her and Jason a few times. She suspected he realized there was more to that, but if he did, he also seemed to realize that he really didn’t want to know what it was. “Oh, all right,” he said. “I’ll go get some carpet cleaner and a get well card. Try not to kill any of the rats, they’re my roommates, even if they’re freeloaders.”

Finally, he was gone, and Donna could focus on Jason. Kyle or the Monitor (probably Kyle) had at least put him on the couch. There was faint muttering and the clattering of drawers being opened and closed coming from what she assumed was the bathroom. A few seconds later, Kyle stuck his head out. “Damn it, did you kick him out already? I can’t find where he keeps his first-aid kit.”

“Where’s the Monitor?” Donna asked.

“Scanning.”

Donna understood that it was important to exhaust all the possibilities when so many lives were at stake, and that it was probably for the best that they all have some time and space to cool off a little, but she still muttered a few choice insults under her breath before saying, “Just keep looking. He’s probably got one somewhere.”

Kyle returned to his search. Donna knelt next to Jason. His breathing sounded even worse without the helmet, and it was only getting quicker and shallower as his eyes darted around the room, looking for threats. The temperature was definitely warmer than it had been only moments ago, and she swore she could hear faint, ominous creaks from the walls and floors. He was losing control again.

Physical contact seemed more likely to make him panic and lash out than comfort him, so Donna kept her hands to herself and asked, “Can you hear me, Jason?”

His eyes zeroed in on hers, but they were still so bleary she wasn’t sure what he was seeing in them. She found out when he breathed out, “B?”

Donna couldn’t help but wince. He was really, _really_ out of it if he was mistaking _her_ for Batman. Sure, she was wearing black, and she had blue eyes and black hair, but she’d hope the differences were obvious. “No, it’s Donna,” she said. “What do you remember?”

“I was…” The panic in his eyes faded a little, replaced with confusion. “I thought… Where am I?”

 _The apartment of an alternate universe version of your murderer, don’t worry about it._ “Gotham,” she said aloud. “Still in the same universe.”

“How did I…” Something like realization flashed in his expression, and he burst into mirthless laughter that almost instantly turned into horrible, wet coughing. More blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

There wasn’t anything Donna could do to help if he started choking on his own blood, so she gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze and hoped for the best.

Thank all the gods, the coughing subsided and he was able to breathe again. He used this breath to hiss a simple, “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Donna agreed.


	23. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back, Cha Cha Real Smooth

The Phoenix Force could officially go fuck itself.

In theory, being able to bend reality to your will with a thought was really cool. In practice, it might still be pretty cool if the one with that power was somewhere in the same ballpark as well-adjusted. Jason was not in that ballpark. He was in another fucking universe, and having such powerful powers so closely tied with your thoughts was not particularly cool when your brain managed to convince itself it was getting beaten to death so thoroughly that those powers decide to make it a reality. He should probably be glad that he hadn’t somehow transformed into his fifteen-year-old self, stupid outfit and all.

It was hard to be glad when he was lying on the couch of an alternate universe version of the person who’d given him these injuries in the first place, in more pain than he could ever remember being in before (at least the first time around he’d died before the adrenaline ran out), and just barely managing not to cry while Donna and Kyle tried to patch him up to the best of their abilities.

Actually, no, the Phoenix Force wasn’t to blame. The powers were an unintended side-effect, and he doubted it cared enough to do this on purpose. No, it was the Monitor who should go fuck himself gently with a chainsaw. He’d looked at Jason’s fractured… well… _everything_ and seen an excellent learning opportunity. How the fuck was he supposed to fix this? Even if he wasn’t practically delirious from pain, he didn’t know enough about the human body to be sure he wouldn’t accidentally put his leg back together the wrong way and end up with a weird backward knee like a cat or something.

Kyle tied off a bandage to finish a makeshift splint. The pain had Jason bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. Or maybe he was just coughing up blood. He was doing that a lot. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever be able to get the coppery taste out of his mouth. Maybe he should try fixing the internal stuff first. But he had no idea how to do that.

“We should probably get some painkillers,” said Donna.

“No,” Jason rasped instantly. He could handle the pain. He didn’t need drugs. He’d seen what they did to people. He’d seen what they did to his mom. He couldn’t risk it. He already had more issues than he could handle, thank you very much.

Donna frowned at him disapprovingly. “Jason, I really think –“

“No,” he repeated, glaring at her as hard as he could with one of his eyes swelling shut and the other barely able to focus.

Just remaining conscious was exhausting enough, so he’d given up on keeping his mental barriers up almost as soon as he woke up. He’d been able to glean a lot of information on this universe from the minds of the neighbors, and confirmed that Donna and Kyle weren’t secretly evil robots trying to bring about the end of time or anything. It also meant that he sensed the Joke _ste_ r’s mind as soon as he got within a few blocks.

His mind was… normal. Okay, maybe not _normal_ normal, but compared to… Compared to some, he was as boring as watching paint dry. Jason could handle it. Maybe not super well, because there were still enough similarities to make him want to throw up a little, but he could be in the same general vicinity as him without killing anyone. Hopefully.

The Jokester knocked on the door in a playful shave and a haircut pattern and called out, “Honey, I’m home!”

Jason’s heartrate skyrocketed, something nearby shattered, and he barely managed to grab the nearby bucket before he threw up. He couldn’t do this. Just like before. Just like…

While he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, Donna stormed over to the door, opened it with a rusty creak, and hissed something Jason’s muddled mind couldn’t make sense of at the moment. He couldn’t make out the Jokester’s reply, either, but the sound of his voice made his entire body twitch. The movement aggravated all his injuries to the point that he couldn’t suppress a pained groan. Kyle (unless somebody else had materialized in the room without him noticing) gave him a somewhat awkward pat on the shoulder.

Jason opened his eyes to a squint as Donna returned. “We should talk with him to learn more about this world,” she said. “Do you want one of us to stay with you, Jason?”

It took Jason a solid ten seconds to come to a decision. On the one hand, being alone meant he could finally drop the mask and cry and wince to his heart’s content. On the other, without anyone to distract him he might do nothing but cry and wallow in his misery. He might even _brood_. Ugh. What did he usually do when he was badly hurt, again? Right. He kept busy. That worked. Usually.

He looked around the room and spotted a laptop on what could only charitably be called a kitchen table. He gestured toward it and said, “Not if I can use that to do some research.” He didn’t know how to fix himself, but chances were somebody on the internet did. So long as the internet of this universe was at least somewhat similar to his own, he’d be able to sift through all the lies and ignorance easily enough.

Kyle grabbed the laptop and brought it over to him. He looked very relieved at not having to sit around babysitting a grown-ass man. Jason was very relieved not to have to be babysat, so it worked out nicely. He opened the laptop and realized that, duh, he needed the password.

He braced himself for the pain this would no doubt cause and called out, “What’s your password?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth more coughs and blood came out, too. It worked, though, because the Jokester’s memories of every single one of his passwords were yanked to the surface.

“Thanks,” Jason croaked as he typed the appropriate one in.

“We’ll be back soon,” Donna assured him as she left.

“Don’t search anything that your FBI agent wouldn’t approve of,” Kyle joked as he left.

Jason rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to go Actually, [Insert Pedantic Correction Here]. He opened up a browser and kept his eyes on the loading icon until the door clicked shut behind them. Once he was alone, he let out the breath he’d been holding. It came out as less of a sigh and more of a whimper. Without the prospect of embarrassment holding them back, the tears came out with force to make up for lost time.

He hadn’t looked at the clock, so he didn’t know how long he spent trying to get all the crying and weakness out of his system. There was still a lot left over by the time he took a deep breath and shoved it all back down. Once he healed himself, he’d never have to deal with those feelings. Maybe Batman had a point with his ‘repress everything and focus on the mission’ strategy.

He typed _How exactly does the human body heal itself_ , hit enter, and got to work.

* * *

Harley opened the car door and dropped the bag into Piper’s lap. “There ya go!” she chirped. “Might be a bit big, but that’s what belts are for.”

Trickster leaned over to dig through it, expression darkening with every article of clothing he saw. “Is this really the best you could do?” he asked. “It’s so… _bland_.”

Piper pushed him back to his side of the back seat. “We’re on the run. Being bland is the point.”

“Being bland is one thing.” Trickster snatched one of the shirts out of the bag and held it up like he was a TV lawyer presenting the evidence that would get the guilty verdict. “But _Nickelback?_ Seriously?”

Piper stared at the shirt like it had personally murdered his grandmother. “Wait, _what?_ ”

Harley had gotten into the driver’s seat by this point and rolled her eyes at them in the rear-view mirror. “It’s a thrift store, my dudes. You take what you can get.”

“Unless there were literally only two shirts, you could’ve gotten a lot better!” Trickster protested.

Harley turned around to glare at him. “Well, gee, I’m sorry if I was more focused on figuring out how we’re supposed to talk with Nightwing or Talia without getting arrested or killed than what your band preferences might be!”

Piper dumped the bag out in the middle seat and scanned the contents carefully. “You didn’t get any jackets?”

“In July? Do you _want_ to get heatstroke?”

“I’d rather get heatstroke than wear that,” said Trickster, tossing the shirt at Piper.

Piper tossed it right back. “You pulled it out first. You get to wear it.”

Trickster tossed it back again. “You’re the one that’s trying to be all heroic and noble. Isn’t sacrifice part of the whole redemption shtick?”

Piper’s fingers clenched in the fabric so hard that Harley worried he might rip it in half. “You’ve got a lot more to redeem yourself for than I do.”

Tempting as it was to let them duke it out, it looked like they might actually hurt each other, and Harley needed them at full strength if they were going to pull this off. Wait… pulling off… Eureka!

“Give it to me,” she ordered.

Piper was more than happy to oblige. Before any shame of self-consciousness could kick in, she yanked off her shirt, threw it at them, and slipped on the oh-so-hated one. “There. Might be a bit tight, and I’ve been wearing it for a few days, but we all smell like sewer anyway and at least it’s not Nickelback.”

Trickster stared at her with the familiar expression of someone whose entire brain process has devolved into ‘hurr durr boobies’. Piper grabbed the other shirt from the bag while he was distracted and looked it over, presumably to ensure it wasn’t branded with an even worse band. Whatever logo it once had was long since faded, which seemed to satisfy him.

“Could we stop somewhere with a bathroom we could sneak into?” he asked.

Right. She supposed other people might not be so comfortable stripping in front of near-complete strangers. Or maybe he was worried about Trickster making fun of him. That did seem like something he’d do. “There’s a Denny’s with a broken window in the women’s bathroom,” she offered as she turned the key in the ignition. “I dunno about the guys one, but if you need to smash it you should be fine so long as you don’t leave the bathroom.”

“Nobody’s going to care about someone breaking in?” Piper asked skeptically.

Harley took her hands off the wheel to shrug and instantly locked them back in place when she nearly crashed into a shiny new Porsche that screamed ‘My father will hear about this!’. “If you don’t leave the bathroom, they’ll assume you’re just hooking up or shooting up. If you do leave, you’ll probably get shot.”*

Trickster snapped out of it enough to shake his head and mutter, “What is wrong with this city?”

“My bet’s on ancient Native American burial ground,” said Harley. “Everybody’s got their own theory, but we all agree it’s definitely cursed. Even Athena kinda implied it.”

“You mean the person you admitted might not actually be the real Athena?” said Piper.

Some fucking idiot barged into her lane with no warning, so she took out her frustration on the car horn. “I somehow doubt goddesses carry ID on them,” she hissed. “How am I supposed to tell if it’s the ‘real’ Athena?”

Piper held his hands up defensively, the movement slightly ruined by the fact he was still holding onto the shirt. “I’m just saying, a bit of suspicion is healthy.”

“It’s not like I’ve promised her my firstborn child or anything. If she tells me to start making blood sacrifices, I’m out.” She pulled into the Denny’s parking lot. “Speaking of cursed places, we’re here! Try not to touch anything in there you don’t have to. I’m not a medical doctor, so I can’t do anything about any diseases you pick up.”

Without a word, Piper got out of the car and tried to sneak around the back of the building. He clearly tried hard, but… well… There’s only so much you can do when you’re wearing a green hood in broad daylight.

“I’m good here,” said Trickster with a smirk, unzipping his costume.

Harley pulled out her phone. “Cool. I’ll just check in with my girlfriend.”

She could practically hear the sad trombone playing in his head. He awkwardly cleared his throat and said, “Actually, I think this shirt might suit Piper better, I’ll go check with him.” He got out and hurried after his… friend? Enemy? Frenemy? Harley was going with frenemy.

She sent a text to Pam. _f_ _ound anything yet?_

In the time it took Pam to reply, Harley was able to hum the Jeopardy theme song three times through. _I have found that the vast majority of suffering in Greek myth could have been avoided if Zeus kept it in his pants._

_sounds about right. anything about possession?_

_There’s something called an Eidolon, but I don’t think it gives the host extra powers. Are you sure Athena didn’t give you any more details?_

Once again, Harley racked her brains for any helpful hints. Still nothing. _if she did I dont remember. might wanna widen the search. just because athenas greek doesn’t mean all her enemies are._

_How wide, exactly? Do you realize how many different mythological beings and/or aliens are capable of possessing people?_

Okay, yeah, that was less a research project and more a Sisyphean punishment. _nvm ill figure sumthin out. thnx 4 the help xoxo_

_Let me know if you get any more details or need help. Be careful._

Harley sent a couple emojis and switched over to Candy Crush until Trickster and Piper came back. Trickster was wearing her shirt. She wouldn’t say he was rocking it, but it didn’t look like it was constricting his breathing and he didn’t look very embarrassed about wearing it. If he were capable of feeling embarrassment about his fashion choices, he would have made very different choices.

Harley turned her data on and pulled up a browser. “Okay, boys, we got a job to do. Don’t suppose either of you have Nightwing or Talia’s number?”

Piper’s expression darkened again. It was broody enough with the mask on. Now that she could see his eyes, she was starting to feel guilty just looking at him. “I’ve got the old Flash’s number, but I doubt he wants to talk to me right now.”

Harley winced at the thought of trying to ask a superhero for help when they thought you’d killed their successor. If the Joker was telling the truth (which was always suspect), Nightwing actually _killed_ him for nearly killing Robin #3 and mentioning poor Robin #2 (Jason, his name was Jason, unless that was another of the Joker’s lies). Even if he got resuscitated immediately, and the Flash was a bit lighter than Nightwing, and Piper didn’t actually do it, that conversation wasn’t going to go well.

Once again, Harley turned to Twitter in her time of need, scrolling through Nightwing’s hashtag and all of the thirst and softcore porn clogging it up. “Okay looks like… Ooh! Looks like Nightwing’s back in Gotham! Thanks, Athena!”

“So, what, we just walk up to him and start talking?” Trickster asked skeptically.

Harley waved him off. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. The first bridge is finding him.” She looked back at Trickster and Piper. “Any ideas?”

“We could rob a bank?” Trickster suggested. “That’d get his attention.”

It looked like Piper was one more stupid comment away from hitting him. “And get us all arrested. What part of laying low do you –“ He took a deep breath and turned to Harley. “Besides, we’d have to wait until sunset to make sure we got any Bats instead of just the cops.”

Harley fidgeted with the phone while she thought, checking out what was trending. Nothing she either cared about or didn’t already know.

“Why don’t you at him?” said Trickster.

Harley had to replay that sentence a few times in her head until she realized that she’d heard him properly. “Oh, like on Twitter? I dunno. Lots of people at him all the time. He probably wouldn’t pay any attention.”

Piper raised an eyebrow. “Not even if it’s from you, a known criminal?”

“You think I’m stupid enough to use my real name on social media? He’d have no idea it’s…” Harley trailed off as she remembered that Batman seemed to know literally everything, and he was exactly the sort of control freak that would keep track of who’s talking about his kids/sidekicks. “Never mind, they still probably know it’s me. That’s actually a decent idea. What angle should we go for?”

“Not threatening,” said Piper, glaring at Trickster.

Harley rolled her eyes. “Nobody was going to suggest that.”

Trickster let out a nervous laugh. “Y-yeah, obviously!”

Harley typed _@Nightwing_ , realized somebody probably snagged it before the actual Nightwing, checked to confirm, goggled at the fact that the verified Nightwing handle was @nightwingmcqueen, and once that was typed in, she ran out of ideas. “Okay. Not threatening. Can we get any more specific?”

“It’s a tweet, not a love letter,” said Piper. “Just say where and when you want to talk to him.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harley scoffed.

Piper was not amused. “Saving lives isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“No wonder so few people try to do it,” said Trickster. “Besides, we wanna get his attention, right? We gotta stand out. How many emojis can you fit in there?”

Harley grinned. “I like the way you think.”

Piper made a few brave efforts to curb their creativity. Once it became clear such efforts were in vain, he gave up and ignored them in favor of fiddling with his flute. Harley and Trickster only stopped when they ran out of space. The tweet was a beautiful monstrosity of emojis, acronyms, and pick-up lines. Anybody who didn’t know it was Harley would automatically put it down as a troll, and anybody who did know her would probably still assume it was just her trolling, but she trusted that Nightwing would at least check it out, out of morbid curiosity if nothing else.

She sent the tweet and leaned back in her seat, flush with victory. “Okay! Now we go to the docks and wait.”

“Why the docks?” Piper asked.

Harley shrugged. “Couldn’t think of any available abandoned warehouses off the top of my head, so the docks are next on the list of default meeting places.”

“You have a list?” said Trickster.

Harley started the car and looked at him quizzically in the mirror. “You don’t?”

He thought it over for a moment. “Cold usually decides on that stuff.”

“Yeah, and Mis – the Joker usually decided on that stuff with me, but I still…” Harley sighed. Funny how she could banter with these two assholes all day and still feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but one narrowly avoided Mistah J drained her to the point she barely had enough energy to keep driving. “Whatever.”

“You okay?” Piper asked.

“Fine,” she grunted.

“Are you sure?” asked Trickster. “’Cause I’d rather not die in a car crash because somebody not-fine was at the wheel.”

“Keep this up, and I promise you won’t die _that_ way.” In the mirror she gave her widest, eeriest smile.

They got the hint and didn’t bother her for the rest of the drive, aside from muttering to each other too quietly for her to hear over the various honks, mechanical squeals, sirens, and occasional screams that made up the Gotham traffic soundscape.

She only spoke up again once she’d parked the car just close enough to the meeting spot to make a quick escape, but far enough to not be visible to Nightwing or anyone else who showed up. “All right. It’s probably best if I go in alone. Don’t want him to feel outnumbered.”

“What if he brings backup?” asked Piper.

“I doubt he’d consider little ol’ me worth backup.” She got out of the car, went around the back, and pulled out her hammer. She went back to the front and popped her head through the window to continue, “If things get hairy, I’ll be sure to scream like a proper damsel so you dashing heroes can come to the rescue.”

Trickster eyed the hammer. “Yeah, you threatening to kill us five minutes ago really solidifies your status as a delicate flower.”

“Please, it was definitely more than five minutes ago. The past is the past.” She let out a sigh. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry for threatening you. We good?”

Piper didn’t look very happy, but he said, “We’ll come if you need us.” He tapped an ear. “I’ll keep an ear out for you.”

Harley wasn’t totally sure what he meant by that, but whatever. Guess he had super hearing or something. That would tie in nicely with the flute. She gave the two of them one last wave and headed to the meeting spot.

No sign of Nightwing. Obviously. Even if he was the cheeriest and friendliest of the bunch, he was still a Bat. You’d think they were all under a curse that would immediately kill them if they didn’t make a dramatic and sneaky entrance at every single opportunity. Harley leaned herself and her hammer against a shipping container and played Candy Crush to pass the time.

Eventually, there came the familiar sound of somebody landing just heavily enough to alert others to their presence, and the slightly less familiar voice of Nightwing saying, in a rather exasperated tone, “What do you want, Harley?”

Harley pouted at him. “Rude, much? For all you know, that tweet coulda been a cry for help! I could be seriously hurt!”

Even with the mask on, she could tell he was raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously hurt?”

“No, but I coulda been!”

“Then what do you want?” he snapped in a very Batman-like way. “This really isn’t a good time for chit-chat.”

Fine. If he didn’t want chit-chat, she wouldn’t give him chit-chat. “How do you know Phoenix?” she asked.

If Nightwing had been drinking something, he definitely would’ve done a spit-take. “What?”

“I’m not gonna hurt him!” Harley hesitated and, once again, replayed her conversation with Athena to see if she said anything about the de-possession process being painful or not. “I mean, not on purpose! I dunno if –“ The look on Nightwing’s face had her clamping her mouth shut and instinctively reaching for her hammer.

“What are you talking about?” he growled.

“I, uh – that is to say…” _Way to go, Harley. It only took you a minute to fuck this up. Time for damage control._ “I’m tryna help him. He’s possessed, and –“

Nightwing pulled out his escrima sticks and stepped closer. “How do you know about that?”

Harley held the hammer in front of her defensively. “Whoa, easy there, handsome! I just wanna talk!”

“Then talk. How do you know he’s possessed?”

Harley hadn’t expected to be the confused one in this conversation, but here she was, struggling to understand where Nightwing was coming from. “You already knew?”

“Answer. The. Question.”

Harley gave him a careful once-over to make sure it was actually Nightwing, and not Batman in Nightwing’s suit. It was. He was just really, _really_ mad. She didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t make him even more mad. Might as well go for the truthful one. “The goddess Athena told me.”

Nightwing’s anger abated a little, replaced with confusion and concern. “Are you sure you’re not actually hurt?” he asked. “Did you hit your head recently?”

“No! And yes, I _have_ been taking my meds! Obviously, it wasn’t a hallucination if Phoenix is actually possessed!”

“So, the ancient Greek goddess Athena told you, somebody with no connection to the Greek gods whatsoever, that Phoenix, who has no connection to them either, is possessed?”

“So, the thing possessing him isn’t Greek?” Oh, boy, Pam was going to _love_ that. “Could ya be any more specific?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Nightwing firmly. “Not to you. We’re already working on it.”

“I can he –“

Nightwing held up one hand to silence her and pressed the other to his ear, head tilted thoughtfully as he listened to whatever was happening over the comm. Abruptly, he yelled, “He did _WHAT?!_ ”

Harley would be amused by his face journey if she weren’t so annoyed about getting interrupted.

“I’ll be right there.” Nightwing focused on her again. “I have to go. You… You should probably go rest. Get your head and meds checked. Keep out of trouble.”

Harley was quite proud of her ability to speak quickly. Ever since she was a kid, she’d gotten pretty used to getting interrupted or ignored before too long, so she learned to make the most of the time she had. But not even she was able to say, “I can help, Athena told me how to de-possess him, I just need something of sentimental value to him,” before Nightwing grappled away.

Harley stomped her foot and swore to herself. She’d been so close to her goal, yet so far, and she doubted Nightwing would let her get that close again. At least, not for a while. He seemed tense enough that any further attempts at contact would result in attempts at arresting her. She wasn’t stupid enough to think the Bats had forgiven her. The reason they hadn’t already tried sending her back to Arkham was probably that they had more important things to do, so long as she kept her head down. And distracting them by rambling about divine visions was not keeping her head down.

She skulked back to the car and slammed the door a good deal harder than necessary.

“Sounds like that was a bust,” sighed Piper.

“Yup,” said Harley, popping the p. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Pam to let her know, as nicely as possible, that all that research she’d done was also a bust. “And I somehow doubt Talia’s got a Twitter account.” She still checked, just to be sure. Nothing. Well, nothing except for a trending tag that caught her eye.

_#JusticeForFlash_

Oh, boy. Harley made sure Trickster and Piper couldn’t see her phone before she tapped it. _Maybe it’s got nothing to do with them,_ she hoped as the page loaded. _Maybe they’re all just excited because someone caught the guy actually responsible._

Nope. It wasn’t. That was definitely an article about how notorious supervillains Trickster and Pied Piper, murderers of beloved superhero the Flash, had been spotted in Gotham, and a whole bunch of comments baying for their blood.

Harley checked to see if there’d been any more recent Phoenix sightings. There weren’t. The last one was still with Troia and a Green Lantern, in a city a plane ride or a long day’s drive at least from Gotham. Somewhere nobody should be looking for Trickster or Piper.

She put her phone away and started the car. “New plan, boys. We’re going on a road trip.”


	24. Bedside Manner

Surprise surprise, the human body was just as weird and inefficient as the human mind. No wonder doctors had to do so much studying and pay so much money to figure out how it worked. Oh, and apparently stress impeded the healing process, which was the greatest evidence against intelligent design Jason had ever seen. How was he supposed to think happy thoughts when every breath gave him the feeling that the jagged ends of his broken ribs were going to pierce through his skin?

He decided to start small. First on the list was getting the swelling down. It would be way easier to read if he could open both eyes. In theory, it should be a fairly easy fix. Just get all the white blood cells and other fluids to disperse. He closed his eye and tried to imagine it happening.

He had no idea if it worked properly, or if the idea was the proper one in the first place, but _something_ definitely happened. He got the distinctly unpleasant sensation of something crawling underneath his skin, and the nearly equally unpleasant sensation of… deflation? He didn’t think there was a proper word for it in English. He couldn’t think of a proper word in any of the other languages he knew, either. He wasn’t sure any human in history had felt that sensation, or if they had they didn’t want to think about it enough to come up with a word for it.

Whatever it was, when it was over Jason was able to open his right eye again. Yay.

Next he went for the bruises. That wasn’t _too_ difficult. Just will the blood away from the surface and back where it’s supposed to be. Also an unpleasant process, and one that offered a lot less relief once it was over. Then he went for all the cuts, which turned out to be more complicated than just stitching the skin back together. He had to create new tissue, which was, shockingly enough, not pleasant. Once it was over, though, he felt significantly better. Amazing how no longer bleeding all over a couch could perk you up.

By that point, he was feeling exhausted both mentally and physically (and emotionally, but it felt like he was always emotionally exhausted). He closed his eyes and tried to settle in for a nice nap. He doubted he’d succeed, between the pain and his wariness at being in a strange, unsecure place and the background thoughts of everyone around.

So, obviously, the next thing he knew he was dreaming. In hindsight, it was blatantly obvious that it was a dream. For one thing, he was a scrawny fifteen-year-old again. For another, he was suddenly in a desert, staring up at a sky full of stars, with absolutely no inkling of how he could’ve gotten there from Gotham. Oh, and he was bleeding and bruised again. Couldn’t forget that.

Since it was dream, it wasn’t super detailed. He couldn’t feel the sand against his skin, or any sort of temperature, or smell smoke on the air, but somehow, in the way of dreams, he knew that something was on fire nearby. He turned his head to look at the burning remains of the warehouse. _The_ warehouse. Just like he’d seen it in Bruce’s mind. He dragged himself to his feet (in hindsight, another sign, because no way he could’ve stood with those injuries) and staggered toward the ruins. There was someone in there. Someone important. Someone he had to find.

He dug through the wreckage (in hindsight, he’d realize he followed the exact same route Bruce had when he found Jason, and he should’ve realized what was coming). He knew that time passed, but he couldn’t remember exactly what happened in that time. The next thing he knew, he saw the dark corner of an oh-so-familiar cape poking out from beneath a pile of rubble and raced toward it. The pain from his injuries, already muted and far-off, vanished entirely as he tossed and pried and shoved the wreckage aside (in hindsight, he’d wonder if the part of his brain that felt pain simply didn’t have room for it with all the emotional pain coursing through him).

One last plank of wood fell away, revealing Batman – Bruce – _Dad_ –, suit torn and bleeding, eyes closed, lips pulled back in a frozen grimace of pain, red staining his teeth and spilling from his mouth. Jason closed his eyes, but the image was already burned into his memory. His hands shook as he tried to find a pulse. With his eyes closed, it was easy to pretend he just wasn’t finding the jugular, and that was why he couldn’t feel even the slightest sign of life.

“B?” he whimpered. “B, c’mon, get up.”

He didn’t know how he got there, or how Bruce got there, or how any of this had happened, but he did know, somehow, that it was all his fault. It was all his fault that B was… If he’d just been smarter, or faster, or tougher, he could’ve…

He rested his head on Bruce’s chest, praying to feel it rise and fall with breath, or hear a heartbeat, or feel B let out a half-laugh and wrap his arms around him in a hug, like he did when he’d had a nightmare. Nothing. All he could feel was the suit under his cheek growing slick with blood and tears, and all he could hear was the crackle of fire and the rattle of his own breathing.

“Clark?” It was supposed to be a scream. All his damaged lungs could manage was a shaky whisper. Still, he’d be able to hear it, right? If he could hear a heartbeat, he’d be able to hear a whisper, right? He’d notice Batman’s heart stopping, right? _Somebody_ would notice. _Somebody_ would help. They had to. Bruce couldn’t just… Not like this. Not ever. Not when Jason still needed him so much.

“Please…” _Not like this. I didn’t want it to go this way. It was my mistake. I should’ve paid for it. It was supposed to be me. Please wake up. Please don’t leave me._ The words got tangled and drowned in his throat and wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Only… “Help.”

The heat shifted, coalescing into a physical presence beneath his cheek. It wasn’t the oppressive, burning feeling he was used to. It felt like the comforting warmth of a blanket fresh out of the dryer. It gently lifted his head and, with a feathery brush of his cheek and a gust of hot air, wiped the tears and blood and dirt away. Another not-quite-there arm wrapped around his abdomen and pulled him away. Jason tried to resist, clinging to Bruce like the last piece of driftwood from the shipwreck in the middle of the ocean.

Bruce dissolved beneath his fingers, and the heat spread to encompass him, white-hot and familiar. He didn’t open his eyes, but he still saw white for a moment before the scene changed. He was not-quite nineteen, kneeling in soft grass, free of pain for the first time in what felt far longer than a few hours, eyes still firmly shut, and warm, ethereal arms still wrapped around him.

“It was just a dream,” he told himself. “Just a dream.”

Was it, though? What if travelling to alternate universes was causing his telepathy to tap into them? What if that was what would’ve happened if Bruce got there in time? If Jason managed to get out before the bomb went off, and was so stupid and desperate for a mother’s love that he told Bruce to go in and save Sheila?

“It was only a dream.” The voice was his, but he didn’t feel himself speak. He must really be out of it… or…

He opened his eyes. He was back in the field, which was getting less picturesque every time he had a confusing and frustrating conversation with the Phoenix Force. He glanced down at himself. No trace of injuries. Any relief at that was more than offset by the pale, fiery, arm-like appendage wrapped around his torso. The heat soaking through his hair suggested there was another one resting on top of his head. He should be panicking, should be detangling himself and getting as far away as possible. But he was tired, still shaking at the memory of Bruce’s body, and it honestly felt kind of nice. Besides, if the Phoenix Force really wanted to be weirdly cuddly, there wasn’t anything Jason could do to stop it.

The hand on his head moved back and forth in a perfectly rhythmic stroke. “It was only a dream,” the Phoenix repeated in a soothing tone that from anybody else would scream ‘fake’. From the Phoenix, along with the weird hair-petting, it screamed ‘I don’t actually know what I’m doing so I’m copying what I’ve seen in your memories’. “Simply a construct of your own imagination, brought about by the mental state your injuries have put you in.”

“I know,” Jason snapped. It came out far weaker than he’d intended. He took a deep breath and made sure his voice was even when he continued. “What are you doing?”

The Phoenix hesitated a moment before saying, in its usual dull tone, “I am trying to comfort you.”

Jason wasn’t sure if that was funny or sad. He settled on a combination of the two and said, “Well, you suck at it.”

“You’ve already calmed down significantly,” it said, with a touch of smugness. “Clearly, I’m not _so_ terrible at it.”

“I’m not calm, I’m just completely fucking confused.” He squirmed and tried to pull the arm away. Somehow, it managed to be toasty warm against his chest and searing hot against his hand. He swore and tried to rub the pain out of his hand. “What the fuck?”

“Stop denying yourself,” the Phoenix… scolded? Jason couldn’t think of a better word, but it still felt wrong and out of place. “Every time you’ve been in distress, you’ve wished for someone to do this for you.”

That was… Okay, _maybe_ that was true. But he _definitely_ didn’t wish for the one hugging him to be the cosmic bird living in his head and screwing up his life. The one that had never bothered offering so much as a word of reassurance whenever he was nearly having a panic attack wondering how he’d come back to life or how he’d gotten his powers. The one that had just confirmed it _knew_ that, and still did nothing. Any last vestiges of comfort slipped away and were replaced with something nearing revulsion. If the Phoenix didn’t get its hands off him he was going to…

Before that thought could form into something more coherent than ‘something bad’, the Phoenix let him go. He closed his eyes for a moment to relish the feeling (except for a tiny, _very_ stupid part that already missed the contact). When he opened them again, the robin was back in its usual place, looking more deserving of strangling than ever.

“I don’t understand,” it said, cocking its head in confusion.

Jason closed his eyes and lay back on the ground. He was shaking again. _Fuck._ Explaining how human emotion worked would have been a monumental task at his best. In his current state it would take a miracle for him to not say the wrong thing and get smote for his lip. Better to just stay silent and let it figure it out itself. Served it right for never explaining anything to him.

“Would you accept a different form?” The robin blazed with white light. Jason opened his eyes to a narrow squint. Just enough to see the white light take on a much larger, much more familiar silhouette.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and, without thinking (or, at least, not thinking anything beyond ‘how dare you, you fucking sociopath’), pulled one of his guns out of its holster and opened fire straight at the Phoenix’s new Batman-shaped head. The shots rang in his ears. The sound usually got his adrenaline going and heralded some scumbags getting what they deserved. This time? Firing at something that looked too much like Bruce for comfort? He let the gun slip from his fingers, because any physical exertion would make him throw up.

“I see,” said the Phoenix Force. “I’m sorry for the mistake.”

Sheer rage allowed Jason to push through the nausea and exhaustion and lingering terror so he could snarl, “ _That’s_ what you’re sorry for?”

The Phoenix sighed. Jason didn’t think he’d ever heard such a weird sigh. It, fittingly enough, sounded like an alien trying to mimic the sound of a human sigh in order to blend in, but didn’t quite get the concept. “I don’t understand. How can you want something, yet not want it at the same time?”

Jason shrugged. He had to take a moment to steady himself so that vomit didn’t come out of his mouth instead of words. “Congratulations, you’ve summed up the entire human experience.”

The silence from the Phoenix Force was expectant. An empty space waiting to be filled. The perfect bait for somebody who loved the sound of their own voice. Jason was one of those people, no matter how many times letting his mouth run ended badly for him.

“Look, if we could explain it, we wouldn’t be doing it, now would we?” he said. “Why are you even asking, anyway? Since when have you cared?”

“Since I decided to take on a mortal host.”

Jason opened his eyes. The Phoenix seemed to have given up on taking on a friendly form. It was now a vaguely humanoid blob of white fire that hurt to look at. And yet, even through his burning retinas and rage, Jason couldn’t help but think it was probably one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. Beautiful like a supernova – best admired from a distance of several million light-years, else you be burned to nothingness.

He quickly closed his eyes again and banished the thought. Just because something was pretty didn’t mean it wasn’t an asshole. Just look at Poison Ivy. “Why did you decide that?” he asked. This was the chattiest the Phoenix Force had ever been, so he was going to get some answers if it killed him. It wasn’t like that had proven to be much of a hindrance.

“Do you remember Death?”

Jason bolted upright, nausea be damned. “What do –“ He closed his mouth, swallowed it down, ignored the taste, and continued. “No, I don’t. Did you not notice all the existential crises I’ve had over what my afterlife might’ve been like?”

“I meant Death of the Endless. You would think of her as the Grim Reaper, though she’s by far the least grim of her siblings. I –“

Jason held up a hand to stop it. “Hold on. Just give me a second to process that the Grim Reaper’s real.” He lay back down and processed. It wasn’t that hard, really. If life had a personification, why not death? And now that he had that image in his head, another one swam up just close enough to the surface to be glimpsed through a dozen layers of distortion. An image of a pale hand held out to him, a gentle smile, and dark, kind eyes. An image of precisely the sort of person you’d want to guide you to the hereafter.

He really shouldn’t be surprised to find out Death was a nice person. She was the opposite of Life, after all, and Life was proving to not even understand what being a person was.

“All right, it’s processed. Proceed.”

“She has found it helpful to understand mortals better, and suggested I do the same. I thought that the best manner to do it in would be to take on a host and experience the universe through the lens of their perspective.”

All that did was bring up more questions. He doubted the Phoenix would let him ask them all before it got sick of him and forcibly woke him up. He’d have to prioritize.

“Why me?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to use somebody you didn’t have to resurrect?”

“I…” It blazed bright again, and for a moment Jason remembered –

The moment ended.

“It doesn’t matter,” said the Phoenix firmly. “Would you like me to heal your wounds before you wake?”

Jason lifted his head to pout at it. “I have more questions.”

“I have one as well, and no more answers.”

Because obviously what the Phoenix wanted was so much more important than what Jason wanted. Tempting as it was to lay into it, it was even more tempting to leave as soon as possible.

He considered the offer carefully. He had no reason to think the Phoenix wouldn’t heal him if he agreed. It had already healed these exact injuries. Sure, it also fried his brain pretty bad, but he doubted that was on purpose. Or, at least, he hoped. And, for all its other faults, the Phoenix seemed pretty honest. If it thought it’d make him catatonic again, it would probably tell him. The thought of finally being free from pain was nearly more appealing than asking the Phoenix Force for help was demeaning.

Nearly.

“I’ve got one answer,” he said. “No. The Monitor’s an asshole, but he’s right. Since you’ve made it abundantly clear that I can’t count on you, I need to learn how to do this stuff myself.”

There was barely enough time for the telepathic part of his brain to register something like sadness coming from the Phoenix before he woke up.

He instantly regretted turning the offer down. Grand moral stands were a lot less impressive when you couldn’t move without wanting to cry. Especially when there were people around to see it.

Kyle was sitting in a nearby, ratty chair, using the vast powers of his Green Lantern ring to create a sketchbook to draw in. His expression was awfully determined for somebody just doodling, though, so Jason assumed it had some sort of purpose. Donna wasn’t in view, but he could hear her voice, hushed and coming from what he was pretty sure was the kitchen. She was talking to someone, and Kyle seemed solely focused on his drawing, so either he was ignoring her, or she was talking to…

He had about three seconds to prepare himself before the Joker – _Jokester’s_ voice crawled into his ears. It was enough to prevent anything smashing or burning, but he still had to take a sharp inhale, which resulted in a sharp gasp of pain because a crowbar to the respiratory system (even an imaginary one) hurt like hell.

Kyle noticed, and immediately looked panicked. He let out a quiet swear before calling out, “He’s awake!”

Donna let out a swear of her own and hissed something to the Jokester. The Jokester let out an affronted gasp that would’ve made the hair on the back of Jason’s neck stand up if he weren’t lying down. As it was, he was very relieved to hear a window open with a rusty screech, and the familiar sound of somebody clambering out onto a fire escape.

Donna came into view. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Pissed off at the Phoenix Force,” Jason growled. “So, the usual.”

Kyle frowned. “Did something happen?”

Jason tried to find the words to explain. He failed. How was he supposed to explain something he himself was still confused about? What the hell had that all been about? Why was the Phoenix being so nice now? Was it – No. He wasn’t going to think about that. Not while there were more important things. Like all the new information on this world swirling around in Donna and Kyle’s heads.

“No,” he lied. “What happened with you guys?” It’d make them all more comfortable if they were able to tell him instead of him scrabbling around in their private thoughts.

“The Jokester gave us some more information,” said Kyle. “It’s… a lot to take in. You might want to wait until you feel better.”

“I’ll be fine.” He already knew shit’s _really_ fucked in this universe. Mentioning it would just remind them they had no privacy while he was around.

“If you say so.” Kyle cleared his throat in preparation for what was clearly going to be a long explanation. “This world doesn’t have a Justice League. They’ve got a Crime Society. They’ve all got different names, so I’m not _totally_ sure which villain is which hero, but I’m pretty sure Owlman is this world’s Batman. He seems to be the brains of the operation. If we take him down, it’ll make taking the rest out a whole lot easier.”

“Define ‘take him down’,” said Jason. He tried not to let his voice shake as the image of Bruce’s corpse flashed before his eyes. Even if this wasn’t his Bruce, and this Bruce was hurting people, and he deserved to die, Jason didn’t think he’d be able to bring himself to pull the trigger.

“Obviously, we’re going to take him in alive if possible,” said Donna. The seemingly subconscious emphasis on the _if possible_ suggested she thought it was a very remote possibility. “We can take care of it. You should focus on healing.”

Wow. She really didn’t think Owlman would be making it out alive. Jason opened his mouth to ask if he was really that much of a threat, trying to imagine what Bruce would be like as a villain. It… wasn’t hard, actually. Even a version of him that had devoted his life to saving complete strangers had quite the knack for hurting the people he cared for. Jason couldn’t quite suppress the shudder that came at the idea of what kind of damage Bruce could do if he actually _wanted_ to.

And that was just on the personal level. What would it be like if all Bruce’s skill, intelligence, determination, and resourcefulness were being used to commit crimes instead of solving them? No wonder this Gotham was such a shithole.

“Does he know we’re here?” Jason asked.

Donna and Kyle glanced at each other. “I… don’t think so?” said Kyle uncertainly.

Jason dragged himself back so he was propped up on the armrest. He took a moment to blink away the tears and catch his breath before he spoke. “Then he probably does, and if that’s the case, we’ve lost the element of surprise, which is the greatest weapon we had against him.* How long have we been here?”

Donna pulled out her phone. “About six hours.”

Jason looked for where the laptop had gone and found it on the coffee table. Somebody must have moved it there to make sure he didn’t knock it over in his sleep. He grabbed it opened it again. “We should probably get a move on, then. Does this guy have an Owlcave?”

“I don’t know,” said Donna. “And if he does, it’s probably got all sorts of security.”

“Yeah, I know, but I – Shit. He’s probably got different passwords than B.” And even if he _did_ have the same ones, the passwords Jason remembered were from when he was Robin. “Ah, well. I can always just open the doors telekinetically.”

“You don’t need to,” said Donna firmly. “Like I said, you should focus on healing.”

“How am I supposed to focus when you guys could get yourselves killed?” The browser finally loaded, and he typed in ‘Bruce Wayne’. “I can at least…”

The results loaded in, and they were… he didn’t know how to feel about them. He’d been prepared for Brucie Wayne hiding a lot worse things under that fake smile, or terrible allegations against him that mysteriously never seemed to go anywhere. Instead, he got an obituary with a death date the same as the day the Bruce Jason knew saw his parents die. Once the initial shock wore off, his eye was caught by an article talking about Thomas Wayne as if he were still alive. Thomas Wayne, _Sr._ One search of ‘Thomas Wayne’ later and he got a clear, stark, and terrible picture.

In this universe, Bruce had an older brother named Thomas, because the Waynes were upper-class people that did that sort of thing. Martha and Bruce die in the alley. The Thomases don’t. Junior gets more than a few screws knocked loose by the experience (or maybe he was just always rotten) and becomes Owlman, ruling Gotham and, with the help of the Crime Society, the world with an iron fist. Senior isn’t happy about this and becomes police commissioner to try and stop him.

Finally, he notices Donna and Kyle trying to get his attention. He’d gotten so wrapped up that he’d completely lost track of the conversation. “It’s not him,” he said, mostly to himself.

Kyle wasn’t aware of this, so he asked, “Who isn’t who?”

“Owlman isn’t…” Shit, did Kyle know Batman’s identity? Probably not. “Owlman isn’t the same person as Batman.”

“Oookay,” said Kyle. “What does that mean?”

Jason smirked. “It means I’ve got no problem putting a bullet in his head.”

His joy was quickly brought to an end when the Jokester stuck his head in the window and called out, “Can I come back in yet?”

Jason was honestly proud that his powers didn’t do anything worse than close the window in his face.

Through the glass, he thought he heard a sheepish, “Guess not.”


	25. Flying on Fumes

Leaving the Jokester out of their planning quickly proved to be extremely detrimental. There was only so much information internet searches could give you, and reading his mind would be just as upsetting as having him in the same room. So, Jason reluctantly told Donna to bring him back inside and get it over with.

Jason kept his gaze firmly fixed on the computer screen as the Jokester came in and threw himself on one of the chairs with a wince-inducing squeak of rusty springs. “Nice to meet you, Phoenix!” he said brightly.

Jason took a deep breath and clenched and unclenched his fingers a couple times before he said, “Skip the pleasantries. The less I have to hear your voice, the better for everyone. Do you know where Owman’s base is?”

Even with his eyes averted and telepathy shut off, Jason could _feel_ the pout the Jokester was directing at him. “Oh, fine, party pooper,” he grumbled. “No. I don’t. He just shows up.”

All right. Jason could still work with that. In fact, it might work even better. Taking him down would only be more difficult if they were on Owman’s home turf. “Is there a pattern to him showing up?” he asked.

“Well, he certainly likes to surprise me every time I show my face.”

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Donna firmly said, “We aren’t using anyone as bait.”

“How else are we supposed to find him?” Jason countered. “This isn’t Batman. I don’t know him well enough to know where he’d be. A trap needs bait.”

“You know bait usually gets eaten, right?” said the Jokester. “And not in the fun way.”

In what way could getting eaten be fu – Oh. Right. Jason had only just gotten the nausea under control, so he was _not_ going to think of sex and the Jok _est_ er in the same context. “Only if it doesn’t work fast enough,” he said. “With Troia and Green Lantern there, you should be fine.”

“If they’re close enough to intervene, they’re close enough for Owlman to notice them,” said the Jokester.

Shit. If Owlman was anywhere close to Batman paranoia and observational skill-wise, he’d do his due diligence before swooping in for the kill. If Jason was there, it’d be easy for him to sense him telepathically and take him out before he so much as saw the Jokester, but he was still in a lot of pain. There was too high a risk of him getting distracted at the wrong moment and letting the Jokester die. And as therapeutic was watching a version of the Joker die might be, the Jokester didn’t deserve to die to assuage Jason’s trauma. And by the time Jason figured out how to heal himself, Owlman would probably have already tracked them down and ambushed them.

Kyle spoke up, dragging Jason out of his thoughts. “Even if we did decide to do that, how do we know he’d take the bait? If he already knows about us, wouldn’t he also know we left the scene with the Jokester?”

You guys took precautions not to be seen, right?” Jason asked, stomach sinking.

“If they followed the path I took, yes,” said the Jokester.

“We were right behind you the whole time,” said Donna.

“Er… _right_ right behind me, or a foot to the left or right right behind me? ‘Cause you gotta take a careful path to avoid the cameras.”

Donna and Kyle went pale. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Kyle demanded.

“Well, forgive me for being distracted by the whole alternate universe thing!”

Jason closed the laptop and steeled himself. “We need to leave,” he said. He grabbed the back of the couch and pulled himself into a sitting position. The nicest way to put the reaction his body had to the action would be that he did _not_ throw up, scream, or start bawling. With the sheer protest every single cell of his body seemed to be broadcasting at eardrum-shattering decibels, he considered that an accomplishment.

Less of an accomplishment was the fact that Donna had to grab him by the shoulder and hold him up before he did a faceplant into the coffee table. “You’re in no shape to be moved,” she said.

“Unless you want Owlman ambushing us and probably killing at least one of us, I have to be.” He grabbed what could now only charitably be called a helmet from its place on the coffee table. The pain wasn’t from a white-hot headache, so this should be fine, right? He knew how to fix his helmet. Or, at least, he was comfortable not knowing and letting his powers make some mistakes. With one last thought of _Fuck it, here goes nothing,_ he closed his eyes and imagined the helmet returning to its proper form.

Even through his gloves and his weird pyrokinetic temperature regulation, Jason could feel a blast of heat, and a burst of light leaked through his eyelids to turn his vision red. And even if he hadn’t noticed those things, the startled gasps (and one yelp, either from Kyle or the Jokester, Jason wasn’t sure which) from his audience would have told him something weird had happened. He opened his eyes again and found his helmet precisely the way he’d envisioned it, and the light didn’t feel like daggers stabbing straight through his eyeballs and into his brain, so clearly it hadn’t been too much of a flex of his powers.

“Yeah, uh, I think he’ll be fine,” the Jokester squeaked.

“Not if he can’t walk,” said Donna, shooting Jason a look that _dared_ him to lie and claim he could walk just fine.

“Don’t need to,” said Jason, with the confidence of somebody who had tried what they were about to attempt before. He wasn’t actually one of those people at the moment, but nobody else needed to know that. How hard could levitating be?

It was, in fact, not hard, much to his surprise, because whenever he thought something like that the universe always seemed to prove him wrong. Or maybe that was just the Phoenix Force fucking with him. It was proving to be even weirder and less predictable than he’d thought.

He took an experimental step, and he got another, much less pleasant, surprise. He was still using the ‘convince yourself there’s ground beneath you’ method, which meant that his brain thought he was trying to walk on a broken leg and activated the pain receptors just as surely as if he were actually walking on the ground. Luckily, Donna had maintained her grip on him and, once again, stopped him from faceplanting.

Okay, time for a new plan. Instead of walking on air, he’d just hover. That way he wasn’t putting any weight on anything. He tried it out. It worked. Huzzah.

“See?” he said, refusing to acknowledge that anything embarrassing might have just happened.

“That’s a great idea!” said the Jokester sarcastically. “A guy in a weird helmet floating down the street is _definitely_ going to help us hide from Owlman.”

Jason glared at him, and probably would have said something that would’ve had them all standing around arguing until Owlman came if Kyle hadn’t spoken up.

“Yeah, that isn’t really lying low.” He banished the sketchbook and floated to his feet. “How about you and I go patrol the skies and let these two do the ground work? You can keep an ear out for them telepathically, right?”

“How the fuck is _that_ lying low?” Jason asked.

Kyle smirked. “It’s not. But if Owlman’s watching us fly around, he isn’t looking at what’s happening on the ground.”

“I think you’re underestimating his ability to multitask. But I can’t think of any better ideas, so let’s go with it.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Donna warned before turning to the Jokester. “Do you have any allies that can help us?”

“If you’ve got a loose definition of ally,” said the Jokester. “They’ll definitely help if you can prove you actually stand a chance against Owlman. They’ll probably yell at me a lot, though.”

“Oh, no, however will we live with ourselves, knowing we caused you mild discomfort in order to save countless lives?” Jason deadpanned.

Donna gave him an elbow to the ribs. Clearly, it was an instinctive thing, because when he let out a yelp of pain (which he felt was justified and not embarrassing, because, y’know, Amazonian elbow to broken ribs) she gasped and immediately said, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t…”

Jason waved her off. “I’m fine,” he wheezed through clenched teeth. “Let’s go.”

He lightly touched Donna’s mind, ignored the concern flooding through the link, floated to the window, and flew off into the sky. He made sure to maintain the mental connection even as the apartment building became just another little gray square of concrete roof amongst hundreds. If he let it slip, the time it would take to find her again could be enough time for somebody to die. He’d never really tried this kind of thing before, and he saw some thoughts she _definitely_ wouldn’t want anyone knowing about, but he fairly quickly found a balance where her thoughts were little more than background noise.

By that point, Kyle had joined him. “You know you’re on fire, right?” he said.

Jason looked down and saw that, yes, he was on fire again. “It happens. Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Kyle looked down at the city. “You know, from this high, Gotham’s actually kind of…” The words seemed to curl up and die on his tongue before he could get them out.

“Yeah, we know it’s a shithole,” said Jason. “It’s kind of nice at night, but then again most cities look kind of nice at night.”

They floated in silence long enough for Donna and the Jokester to leave the building. Then Kyle said, “I guess we should probably talk about the Phoenix Force, huh.”

Jason clenched his hands, anger overpowering the pain. “Should we?” he growled.

Kyle’s expression hardened. “Yes. Has it said anything else to you?”

Jason’s fingers immediately closed around the grip of his gun. “How did you know?”

Kyle held up his hands placatingly. “Whoa, easy, I didn’t! I was just asking. So it _did_ talk to you?”

The instinct to lie and obfuscate was stronger than ever, but it wasn’t as strong as Jason’s desire to have someone else confirm that the Phoenix Force was being really weird. “Yes. I… I had a nightmare, and it tried to comfort me, I guess?”

“Tried to comfort you?” Kyle repeated, wearing a confused expression that made Jason feel _very_ vindicated.

“Yeah. It wasn’t very good at it. It did explain some stuff, though, so it wasn’t a total waste.”

“You couldn’t have led with that?” Kyle asked exasperatedly.

“You try getting hugged by a weird cosmic firebird and not have it be the first thing that jumps to mind!”

Kyle floated back a little, which made Jason realize that the flames were growing with his agitation. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it, relax! What did it explain?”

Jason tried to relax. The flames got a bit less bright, at least. “It said it decided to take a mortal host because…” He paused and tried to think of a way to gently ease Kyle into the revelation that the Grim Reaper was real. All his ideas would take up too much valuable time, so he went for the direct approach. “Because Death herself told it that it should try and understand mortals better.”

Jason didn’t dare look at Kyle’s reaction, because it was probably so funny it would distract him from his connection with Donna. Eventually, Kyle said, in a forced sort of neutral tone, “Huh. All right, then. Did it explain why it chose you, of all people?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason growled. Sure, he’d asked the same question himself, but that was because he _knew_ that he was one of the least suitable people in the universe. Kyle had practically just met him. He didn’t know him well enough to know how unsuitable he was. He was just being a jerk.

“I mean, you were dead, right? Why couldn’t it have chosen someone it didn’t have to put in the effort of resurrecting?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t say.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” Kyle sighed. “That would make everything too easy. Anything else?”

Jason replayed the memory in his head in case he missed anything. He didn’t find anything he felt like sharing. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he said.

“You realize that saying that only makes people worry, right?” said Kyle.

“I just…” Jason instinctively looked down for a rock he could kick. Obviously, he didn’t find one, so he fiddled with the cuff of his jacket while he weighed how much to reveal. “It’s weird that it’s being so… nice all of a sudden, right? Last time we talked, it said it wouldn’t bother interfering even when the multiverse is at stake. Now it’s… It’s weird, right?”

“Literally everything about this situation is weird, Phoenix.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Kyle glared at him “What do you want me to say? ‘Oh, clearly, the Phoenix Force is doing this because of x, y, and z’? I don’t know! Why are you asking me?”

 _Because I want someone to agree with me and let me know that all these feelings are normal for someone in my situation and not just me being emotionally fucked up._ “Forget it,” he said aloud, turning away and focusing on Donna.

She was currently making a call on a payphone, being used as a proxy by the Jokester to set up a meeting with his allies. She didn’t recognize the voice on the other end, but Jason did. The Riddler, or whatever he called himself in this universe. It made sense. Even in their home universe, the Riddler was only in the villain business to show off how smart he was. With the biggest intellectual threat in Gotham being Owlman, of course he’d oppose him, even if it was only for his own selfish reasons.

He returned his attention to his own surroundings. Kyle had created another sketchbook and was drawing in it with a scowl on his face and harsh, sharp strokes of his pen that would have torn through the pages of any normal book. Jason supposed he just had that effect on people. He hoped Kyle would be able to set his annoyance aside when things got serious.

Owlman would get even more suspicious if he saw them just hanging around doing nothing, so Jason took off to loop around the city. He did his best to not show any sign of recognition as he flew over where Donna and the Jokester were making their way to the meeting place. He would’ve preferred not to go near them at all, but he knew how Batman’s mind worked, and he’d bet Owlman’s mind worked similarly. If he suddenly veered off course to avoid a place, that place would suddenly get a dozen times more suspicious.

He kept a firm grip on his connection with Donna while he let the thoughts of the city wash over him, like a scuba diver clinging to their distance line. He hadn’t thought it was possible to find a city full of more misery than his Gotham, but it turned out he was wrong. If he’d ever doubted Batman’s efforts were making a difference (forget if, he’d _definitely_ doubted it every time they weren’t able to save someone), here was proof to the contrary. At least back home there was _some_ hope of the Batman swooping in to the rescue. Here, everyone was just… resigned. It probably made life easier, in some ways. No hope meant no disappointment. It also meant pretty much no joy in life, but in Crime Alley that could usually only be found in a bottle or a needle anyway.

Donna and the Jokester arrived at the meeting. The Riddler was there, along with a woman called Three-Face (guess it wasn’t just moralities that got switched up) and a girl called Harlequin. The Jokester’s thoughts quickly identified them as his ex-girlfriend and their daughter. Oh, and Riddler was Three-Face’s new husband. Nice to see a crime-fighting family even more fucked up than the Batfamily.

Much as Jason would like to lean back, will some popcorn into existence and enjoy the show, life had other plans. A presence came into range and approached at a speed that would put a speeding bullet to shame. Even the speed of thought was barely enough for Jason to instinctively erect a shoddy telekinetic barrier. It was enough to prevent him from instantly dying from the collision, but he was still sent flying back and it took a monumental effort of will to not black out from the pain of his injuries getting jostled.

He sent a frantic, incoherent psychic message to Donna warning her that shit was going down and severed the connection. He couldn’t afford to be distracted here.

He strengthened his shield just in time for the presence to come at him for round two. This time, the shield absorbed enough force that he only went flying back a few feet, and he was able to get a better look at his attacker. Not a very good one, but the flash of red and blue, combined with the speed, strength, and flying abilities already demonstrated, suggested that this was this universe’s version of Superman.

Jason willed himself to come to a stop. Not-Superman was staring at him, confusion and rage coming off him in waves. Jason wondered if he’d ever come across someone capable of withstanding a hit from him before in his life. Whether he had or not, it didn’t make much of a difference for Jason. Either way, Not-Superman felt slighted and was going to try and correct Jason’s grievous sin of not dying immediately. Luckily for Jason, Not-Superman was not very creative, so he just came in for another, harder punch.

Jason couldn’t help but smirk as his shield absorbed the full force of it, even if the exertion was starting to give him a headache. Fun as it was to watch Not-Superman seethe, he should probably wrap this up. If the headache got too bad, it might be the last straw and knock him out, leaving Not-Superman free to do whatever it was he was here to do besides kill Jason.

Superman was vulnerable to telepathy, right? He assumed Not-Superman was no different, especially since Jason could read his mind just fine. And what he saw in his mind made him feel no guilt for taking him out. Honestly, Jason would’ve killed him on the spot if he were more familiar with Kryptonian biology. There wasn’t time to float around trying to figure out which arteries had to burst to give him a fatal aneurysm. It was much easier to grab his mind by the throat, wrestle it into submission, and order it to go to sleep.

Not-Superman went limp and dropped like a stone. Jason made sure he wouldn’t land on anybody and let him crash to the ground. He’d be fine. And if he wasn’t, well, _c’est la vie._ Actually, if he _was_ fine, Jason should probably come back and finish the job. When he woke up, he was going to be pissed off and surrounded by squishy civilians. It would have to wait, though. He’d be asleep for a while, and there were more pressing (and conscious) matters at hand.

Jason turned around and reached out telepathically to check on Kyle and see why he hadn’t done anything to help. It turned out that he had a _very_ good reason, that reason being what Jason assumed to be this universe’s version of Green Lantern. Anybody in the city who happened to look up would find quite the impressive lightshow. Kyle seemed to be holding his own pretty well, and even a quick telepathic message could be too much of a distraction, so Jason left him to it and flew toward Donna and the others.

He picked up the pace (so to speak) once he got in telepathic range and saw how badly it was going. Owlman, for all his faults and differences from Batman, was smart. Donna was already out, hit with a dart of something strong enough to leave her drooling on the ground and not even able to see her hallucinations clearly. Harlequin was out, too. Completely. Jason was too far away and too distracted to sense if she still had the sluggish, distant thoughts of the unconscious, or if she was actually dead. The three remaining vigilantes weren’t sure, either, but the tidal waves of terror and rage made it clear that the latter was a very real possibility.

It also made it clear that the Jokester, Riddler, and Three-Face were losing. Maybe, if they were prepared and cool-headed, the three of them together had a chance against Owlman. Right now, though, they were too angry to think straight, and it was making them sloppy. The fact that it was three-on-one was the only reason they weren’t already dead, and that wasn’t going to last long. Owlman was already cataloguing their weaknesses and getting ready to exploit them. In fact, he was about two seconds away from jamming a batarang (owlarang?) through the Riddler’s eye socket and into his brain.

Jason didn’t think he could get there in less than two seconds without causing some serious property damage. He was already in Owlman’s head, so it was a simple matter to psychically whisper in his ear, “Boo.” Owlman turned to see who’d suddenly materialized behind him, and the Jokester, Riddler, and Three-Face pounced on the opening. Owlman recovered quickly, and probably would’ve still won eventually if Jason hadn’t arrived on the scene and telekinetically thrown him against the nearest wall with enough force to give him a concussion.

The Jokester barely spared a glance at Jason to confirm it was him and one to Owlman to make sure he wasn’t getting up again before he rushed over to check on Harlequin. Three-Face eyed him suspiciously for a few moments longer before going over to Harlequin as well.

Riddler wasn’t so easily distracted. “Who are you?” he demanded, pointing his cane at him as threateningly as he could considering he was bleeding badly and couldn’t put much weight on his left leg.

“Phoenix,” said Jason. “I’m with Troia.” Speaking of which, he should really go check on her. Whatever she’d been hit with was fucking up her head really badly, so there was a good chance it was fucking her body up, too. He doubted even Owlman could’ve figured out her exact weight in order to measure the right dose, and he had even less doubt about him preferring to overdose someone rather than underdose.

Riddler either accepted the answer or was too drained to argue. While Jason floated over to Donna, he went over to Owlman. A grunt of exertion and a sickening squelch later, Owlman’s unconscious thoughts came to an abrupt end. Jason tried not to care. He was largely successful, and he refused to listen to the small part of him that wondered what it might have been like if there’d been an Uncle Thomas around the manor.

He tried to gently lower himself to the ground. He thought it was going well, until he tried to let his legs carry his weight rather than his telekinesis and his body promptly seemed to explode in pain. It exploded again with much more force when his legs crumpled and sent him crashing to the ground. He fought down the instinct to squeeze his eyes shut, because if he did that he might just pass out, and they weren’t out of the woods yet. Kyle was still fighting Not-Green Lantern, Not-Superman was still just lying in the street, Donna probably needed a doctor, Harlequin _definitely_ needed one, and every second they wasted was a second Darkseid had to track them down.

Once the pain was at a somewhat manageable level, Jason rolled over, took another second to wait for the pain to die down again, and reached out to check Donna’s pulse. A bit fast, but not dangerously so. It was probably just the stress.

He rolled onto his back, waited for the pain again, and spotted Kyle and Not-Green Lantern still fighting. It would be kind of hard not to. If he squinted, he could almost pretend he was looking at the aurora borealis. Sadly, Jason couldn’t let the lightshow continue in good conscience. Kyle wasn’t _that_ much of a jerk. He opened his mind, shoved past the suffocating fear and pre-emptive grief from the Jokester, Riddler, and Three-Face, and reached out until he reached Kyle and Not-Green Lantern.

Kyle was still holding his own, albeit a bit more worn out, but it seemed that holding his own was the best he could manage. And Not-Green Lantern… Holy shit. Not-Green Lantern’s mind completely blindsided Jason. He’d been prepared for another scumbag. There wasn’t enough of the poor guy’s psyche left to be a scumbag. The ring was the one in charge. The ring was the threat. So, if it was removed… But it couldn’t be that easy, could it?

He focused on Kyle’s mind and asked, _How do you take off a Green Lantern ring?_

Beneath the expected surprise and confusion came a bundle of memories that held the answer. Just trying to yank it off in the middle of a fight wasn’t going to work. The Lantern (or whatever they were called in this universe) had to be distracted and taken by surprise. For example, if they were suddenly under telepathic attack.

Jason sent Kyle a brief mental overview of his plan, sensed that he understood the gist of it, and then laid siege to Not-Green Lantern’s mind. Or, rather, his ring’s mind.

The fight could only have lasted a few seconds. What it lacked in length, it made up for in ferocity. The ring did _not_ like somebody else encroaching on its host, and it was much older and more powerful than the minds Jason was used to dealing with. Nowhere near the same level as a star, but Jason hadn’t been trying to fight the star. He’d honestly forgotten what it felt like to get in an actual psychic battle. He’d only ever really had the one against Grodd, so that was his point of comparison. The ring was perhaps a little bit less precise. Jason doubted it had to do much mental fighting, either. But it was still old and powerful and more than happy to exploit any weakness Jason presented.

Before the battle could go in either of their way, it was over. Kyle pulled off the ring, and its mind was ripped from its host, still old and powerful and angry, but now unable to do anything about it. Jason shoved it away and pulled back into the safety of his own mind.

He blinked up at the sky. The lightshow was over. The sky was much darker without it. Or maybe that was just his vision going dark at the edges. And now that he was paying attention to his body again, he could hear the Jokester and Three-Face yelling at each other about whether or not they should take Harlequin to a hospital. The sound was like a hammer to his already aching head.

He felt like absolute shit, and Donna was still on a hell of trip, so obviously that was the moment the Monitor chose to reappear.

He took a good, long look at the scene, then turned to Jason with a look that, to most people, would be inscrutable. Jason, however, grew up around Batman, so he was pretty good at reading inexpressive people. He could see the judgement and smugness in the Monitor’s eyes.

He flipped him off and blacked out.


	26. So Close, So Far

Jason was in the field. Again.

“Oh, fuck off,” he snarled the moment he realized this.

“Why are you so angry at me?” the Phoenix asked.

Jason didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. What he did know was that he really, _really_ wanted to destroy something.

He crouched down and buried his fingers into the grass, like a bird sinking its talons into its prey. The metaphor would’ve made him smirk if he weren’t so angry. The grass smoldered for a moment, filling his lungs with smoke and reminding him of the days where a cigarette was the only warmth and distraction from hunger he could find, before it caught on fire. Jason blinked, and the entire landscape was consumed in flame. Even the bright blue sky was dark with smoke and ash.

_Good._

The fire billowed into the sky and coalesced into the Phoenix, blinding and scorching as the summer sun. “Answer the question,” it said. It hadn’t quite got the hang of sounding exasperated yet, but it was definitely getting there.

“What part of fuck off don’t you understand?” Jason screamed, ripping a truck-sized square of dirt from the ground, squeezing it until it was a mass of molten stone, and throwing it at the Phoenix. It accomplished nothing. He didn’t expect anything else. It was still infuriating.

“All of it,” said the Phoenix Force. “I don’t understand. I _want_ to understand. I can’t understand unless you explain it to me.”

Jason opened his mind and mentally launched himself at the Phoenix, shoving all his feelings in its face. How did it not understand? It had been living in his head for _years._ It had seen his thoughts. How could it not understand yet?

“That doesn’t help!” The voice was so distressed that at first Jason thought it had come from him. It was only when it continued while his jaw was clenched shut that he realized it was the Phoenix. “It doesn’t make any sense. It always just… It never makes sense. Explain.”

Despite himself, Jason felt himself relax slightly. The Phoenix sounded so confused, and lost, and in need of help, and no matter how many times it got him hurt Jason could never banish the urge to help people like that. “It isn’t supposed to make sense. There’s your explanation.” Just because he had the compulsion to help didn’t mean he had to be nice about it, though.

The flames abruptly extinguished themselves, and in the blink of an eye the field was pristine and green once more.

“Would you stop that?” Jason snapped.

“This scenery is supposed to be calming. Why isn’t it calming you?”

“Because every time I come here you find a way to piss me off!”

Jason blinked again, and the world changed again. This time, they were floating in a sky full of stars. It was, he had to admit, a decent compromise. It didn’t have all the negative associations of the field, and he had to admit that the middle of an inferno wasn’t exactly a calming environment.

“I don’t want you to be angry at me, Jason,” said the Phoenix.

“Well, too fucking bad!” Jason really, really, _really_ wanted to hit something.

Blink. Scene change. He was back in the training room, facing off against some rookie Assassins. He gave the training sword in his hand an experimental twirl. The balance was perfect. Apparently, the Phoenix Force understood how to make a weapon, but not how basic emotion worked. Then again, it _did_ seem to understand how badly he needed an outlet for all his rage. No, he wasn’t going to think about it. All he was going to think about was killing as many fake dream Assassins as possible.

For every Assassin that fell to his sword, another emerged from the shadows to take their place. He lost track of how many he went through at about sixty-seven. By the time he had probably killed more dream Assassins than actually existed in real life, the anger started to drain away. No other emotions emerged to take its place. He just felt… empty. Tired. He felt _so fucking tired._

He dully watched as the latest Assassin swung their sword at his throat and didn’t bother trying to dodge or parry. It was only a dream. And if it wasn’t…

He reeled back from that thought and found himself back in space. That was a dark path, and if he took a step down it, he didn’t know if he could stop. People were counting on him. The entire multiverse was counting on him. He’d promised Bruce he’d talk with him. Bruce _wanted_ to talk with him. There was still hope. He still had reasons to keep going. And even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter with the Phoenix Force around. Speaking of which…

“Thanks,” he said. The word was difficult to force out, but it had to be done. If he was going to be stuck with the Phoenix for the foreseeable future, he might as well try to get along with it.

“Are you willing to talk now?” asked the Phoenix.

“Willing? Yes. Happy about it? Not really.” Okay, maybe ‘getting along’ was out of the question. There were very few people Jason could say he truly got along with. He was just that kind of person. And by ‘that kind of person’, he meant ‘a sarcastic asshole’.

“Could you please try to explain what I did to make you so angry?”

He took a deep breath, trying to extinguish the burning anger that question sparked in his heart. Him listening to that anger was why the Phoenix was so confused and kept asking about it. It didn’t know any better. He had to keep that in mind. If he explained it and the Phoenix refused to understand, _then_ he could be mad at it to his heart’s content.

“I just…” Ugh, he had to actually put it into words. “I’m angry at you for not doing anything about all the suffering in the universe when you had the power to do so. Plus, it’s really frustrating talking with somebody who doesn’t know how feelings work.”

“I see.” The Phoenix Force was quiet for a moment. “Thank you for telling me.”

Jason fully expected to be kicked back out into the waking world. That seemed to be how it usually went. He could respect wanting to get the last word in. But he remained there, locked in a staring contest as the silence stretched on.

When the tension got too much, Jason snapped, “What? What do you want?”

“Would you still be angry at me if I tried to help?” the Phoenix asked.

Jason gaped at it, trying to wrap his mind around the thought process that went behind that question. The conclusion he eventually came to was so mundane and _human_ that it made him burst out laughing. The Phoenix didn’t react at all. Not even anger at being laughed at. It was a nice reminder that it was still, for the most part, _not_ human.

“I’d be fucking _pissed_ if the only reason you decided to try and be a better person was so that I’d like you,” he said. “Trying to change yourself for someone never works out. Trust me.” He’d tried changing into an adult for Catherine. He’d tried changing into a media darling for Bruce. He’d tried changing into a goody-two-shoes sidekick for Batman. Hell, on some of the bad days he’d tried changing himself into a heartless killer for Talia. It never worked, and in the end, it didn’t make anyone happy.

“What reason would you want me to do it for, then?”

“Uh… basic hu – Wait. Right. I guess you don’t have basic human decency.” Jesus Christ, how the fuck was he supposed to explain empathy to someone without it? Why couldn’t the Phoenix Force have chosen a host with a psychology degree or something? “Just… empathy? Wanting people to be happy?”

“I want _you_ to be happy,” said the Phoenix. It sounded almost proud of itself, like this was some great achievement. Coming from it, it actually kind of was.

“Since _when?_ ” Jason asked incredulously.

“Since I learned what happiness was.”

Jason took a few moments to breathe deeply and process without exploding. Was the Phoenix Force saying it _cared_ about him? Or, at least, as close to caring as something like it could? Or did it not even realize that this was what caring about someone felt like? Just thinking about it made his head hurt. He wondered how much the Phoenix’s head (or whatever it had) hurt, being the one actually feeling the things.

“Okay. That’s… a start,” he said. “I guess the next step is to want everyone to be happy.”

“But _you_ don’t want everyone to be happy,” said the Phoenix, confused.

“Yeah, well…” Jason suddenly understood where Bruce was coming from all those times he told him not to do things he himself did on a regular basis. He’d always thought the whole ‘do as I say, not as I do’ thing was a load of hypocritical bullshit. He still did. Now he was one of those bullshitting hypocrites. “I’m not exactly a good example.”

The Phoenix thought it over for a few moments. “I will try,” it said eventually.

“Okay. Cool.” Jason gave an awkward thumbs-up, because what the fuck was he supposed to do in this situation?

“Are you not angry at me anymore?” There was something approaching hope in the Phoenix’s tone.

“Why does it matter?” Jason asked. “Why do you suddenly care so much about how I’m feeling?”

Again, he expected to get kicked out. Either the Phoenix would need time to come up with an answer, or it wouldn’t want to answer at all. Again, he was surprised and left to stew in palpable silence.

Finally, the Phoenix said, “When I made myself known to you, I did not expect you to hate me so much.”

Jason hoped it wasn’t human enough for that to be an attempt at fishing for sympathy, because he wasn’t giving it. He _did_ hate the Phoenix Force. At first, at least. Actually, no, he still hated certain parts of it. “What did you expect? That I’d be _happy_ about it?”

“Yes,” said the Phoenix. “When we first met, you weren’t –“ It cut itself off. Giant firebirds weren’t exactly easy to read, but Jason got the distinct, familiar impression of somebody who’d let something slip they _really_ hadn’t meant to.

Jason opened his mouth to ask what the fuck it was talking about, but that was the moment the Phoenix Force actually kicked him back to the waking world.

He woke up in a hospital room. A proper, sterile, bland, Earth hospital. Somebody had even changed him into a hospital gown (one of the front-opening, non-ass-revealing ones, thank God) and given him a proper cast for his leg. His attempt at sitting up revealed he’d gotten some stitches, too, and not very sturdy ones. He quickly laid back down before any more ripped open. Why did he have stitches? He thought he’d healed all the cuts. Had he somehow gotten injured while he was unconscious? Did someone perform surgery? He’d probably had internal bleeding. It made sense. And it made things a lot easier for him, healing-wise. He’d been dreading the moment he had to deal with the internal stuff.

The door quietly opened a crack. Jason immediately tensed up, and then immediately gasped from the pain. The door opened fully, revealing a woman wearing a nurse’s uniform and a surprised expression. She quickly composed herself and gave him a comforting smile that was only partly faked.

“You’re awake!” she said as she approached his bed. “How are you feeling?”

Jason glanced out the window and saw the familiar skyline of Gotham. “Like shit,” he said honestly. As a nurse in Gotham, she probably heard far worse daily.

As suspected, she didn’t so much as blink at his language. “I’ll bring some painkillers,” she assured him.

“No!” Jason sucked in a breath through gritted teeth before he elaborated. “No drugs. I… Just, no drugs.”

The nurse didn’t seem too surprised by this, either. He was far from the only kid in Gotham who grew up seeing the damage drugs could do. “Would you be all right with some aspirin, at least?” she offered.

Jason tried to take a deep, calming breath so he could think about it clearly. The flare of pain in his chest was all the answer he needed. “Fine,” he grunted.

The nurse pulled out her phone and made a note. “Okay. I’ll go get that for you, along with some tools so I can check how you’re doing.”

Jason let out a grunt of acknowledgement as she hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.

He scanned the room for any more clues about how he’d gotten here and what had happened since he’d passed out. Nothing. He tried to just lie there, relax, and heal. His stupid, paranoid, Bat-tainted brain immediately bombarded him with all the worst case scenarios. What if Not-Superman woke up, or another one of their Crime Society friends turned up, and killed them all, and Jason was resurrected but left unconscious after he left, and he was found by some poor civilian who brought him to the hospital? It was incredibly unlikely. Not-Superman should’ve been out for hours. The Phoenix Force should’ve prevented him from dying. The Monitor should have been able to do something about it. And yet he didn’t technically have proof that it hadn’t happened, so his stupid brain refused to dismiss the thought.

He dropped his mental barriers and reached out. He hadn’t spent much time around hospitals since his resurrection, so he had no idea if the thoughts surrounding him were normal for one. It was pretty much what he expected from one, though. Stressed nurses and doctors, pained patients, worried visitors, grieving family members… What he _wasn’t_ expecting was the increasingly familiar feel/scent/whatever of Donna and Kyle’s minds. Donna’s thoughts were still a little less clear than they usually were, but she could see straight, so that was good.

It was tempting to look deeper to figure out what was going on, but he was already reaching government levels of privacy invasion, so he pulled back into his own mind. He knew they were alive. That was enough.

The nurse came back before he could get bored enough to do anything stupid. “Here you go,” she said, handing him a couple pills and a small paper cup of water. “My name’s Penny, by the way.”

Jason swallowed the pills with a well-practiced skill that would be worrying to most. Penny, again, didn’t react. Gotta love Gothamites. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I assume you already know my name.” If Donna and Kyle were the ones that brought him in, they probably had to put down some alias on the forms, and he had no idea what it might be.

“Nice to meet you, too, Jason.”

They actually used his real name? Man, the Justice League really would be doomed without any Bats around. He just hoped they’d at least had enough sense to use a fake last name.

He stayed quiet and tried not to think while Penny checked him over, only speaking to answer her questions.

“Can you move all your limbs?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it hurt when I do this?”

“Ow! Son of a bitch!”

“How did you get injured?”

That one gave Jason pause. “Isn’t it on the form?”

“I’m just checking your memory. You got some serious head injuries.” The words made sense, but she didn’t quite make eye contact with him while she said them. Obviously, she suspected something. At best, Donna or Kyle made another gaffe on the form. At worst…

Jason opened his mind and reached out to hers to check. He felt himself relax as he saw it was an innocent sort of suspicion. The form said he’d fallen down the stairs, which was a flimsy-ass excuse even if the injuries matched up. Penny was worried that they were trying to cover up something. Perfectly understandable, especially in Gotham.

Jason let out a sigh and mumbled, with an embarrassed expression, “I wasn’t looking where I was going and fell down the stairs. But if anybody asks, tell them I got into a fight.”

Penny gave him a somewhat relieved smile, and most of her suspicions were put to rest. _Most_ of them. Jason would have to be careful.

By the end of the examination, Jason was in a bit more pain than before, but Penny happily assured him that he should make a full recovery, so long as he followed his doctor’s instructions. He’d feel insulted by the emphasis she put on that last part if it hadn’t reminded him so much of Alfred.

“Should I tell your friends you’re awake?” she finally asked.

“Yeah,” he said, further discrediting her theory that his friends pushed him down the stairs or something.

“Is there anyone else we should contact?” she asked. “You’re not in the system, and your friends didn’t know who your emergency contact was.”

Ah. No wonder she was so suspicious. “No,” he said, staring up at the ceiling with what he hoped was an appropriate expression for someone admitting they didn’t have anyone they trusted enough to be their emergency contact.

“Okay,” said Penny, looking sympathetic and somewhat guilty. “I’ll go let your friends know.”

And then she was gone, and Jason was left with nothing to do but stare up at the ceiling and fight down the urge to root through the minds of everyone nearby for information. He tried to reassure himself that, surely, he would’ve noticed if Not-Superman were up and causing havoc. There’d be sirens, screaming, tons of people coming into the hospital. It was too peaceful for that.

Jason frowned. It was too peaceful, _period._ He couldn’t hear _any_ sirens. That just didn’t happen in Gotham. The level of despair he’d sensed was about on par with the average Gotham street, and that couldn’t be right, could it? Shouldn’t a hospital be worse? Especially since this didn’t look like a very nice part of town. Or did it? He looked back out the window. The skyline was right for a bad part of town, but the buildings weren’t. They were too clean and well-maintained. Why would a world without Batman be so much worse in so many ways, yet somehow have better infrastructure? It didn’t make sense.

What did make sense, however, was this being _another_ alternate universe. The Monitor wouldn’t have shown up again just to say hi and judge his life choices. Darkseid must’ve been closing in. Didn’t take him long, though then again, they hadn’t exactly been maintaining a low profile. He imagined Darkseid had a vested interest in watching any version of Superman get his ass handed to him.

Oh, _fuck_ , he didn’t kill Not-Superman.

He sat up, ignoring the pain, and preparing to try and stand when Donna and Kyle entered the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said Donna sternly, hurrying over and pushing him back onto the bed.

“To find the Monitor,” he said, trying to get up again. Her hand remained planted on his chest, pinning him down. He wasn’t _quite_ desperate enough to use his powers to free himself yet, so he lay back and continued. “I’ve got some unfinished business in the last universe.”

“The Monitor’s back in space,” said Kyle. “And how do you already know we’re in another universe? Have you been reading our minds?”

Jason smirked. “Bat training. And, okay, yeah, a _little_ bit of mind-reading.”

“Jason,” said Donna disapprovingly.

“You try being stuck in a room with no idea what’s going on while having telepathy you have to actively suppress in order to not use,” Jason snapped. “Do you have any way to contact the Monitor?”

“No,” said Kyle. “You can talk to him when he deigns to grace us with his presence.”

Jason glared at him. “I can talk to him _now._ I left Not-Superman just lying in the street. Unless somebody happens to have some Kryptonite on them when he wakes up, it’s not going to be pretty.”

Donna and Kyle exchanged a horrified look. “H-how long did you knock him out for?” asked Kyle.

“I dunno. A couple hours, maybe?”

Jason felt his heart drop, leaving a hollow space in his chest, as he saw how they exchanged another look and went pale. His too-smart-for-its-own-good brain quickly came to the logical conclusion.

“It’s been more than a couple hours.” The words came out as a statement, not a question, and far softer and weaker than he’d intended.

“I’m sure they’re…” Donna trailed off, any assurances that things were okay being so frail and unreal they died on her lips. She moved her hand to his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “You did your best. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

 _You did your best._ Jason had long since gotten sick of hearing that. How was it supposed to be a comfort, knowing that your best wasn’t good enough? That _you_ weren’t good enough? That people were _dead_ because _you_ weren’t good enough? Why should you even fucking bother?

“You mean there’s nothing _you_ can do about it,” Jason growled, opening his mind. He recalled the feel of the Monitor’s mind, focusing on it as he reached further and further out. The assembled thoughts of the hospital threatened to overwhelm him, then the thoughts of the city, then the country, then the world, but so long as he just focused on finding the Monitor, he could handle it. Things were getting white, but he could handle it. He couldn’t sense anything from his physical body anymore, but that just made handling things easier.

He didn’t plunge into the White Hot Room like he usually did. He was like the frog in a slowly heating pot of water, not realizing he was boiling alive until it was too late. The Monitor was only one mind of… Jason couldn’t even comprehend the number of voices whispering in his ears. It was just white noise. White noise, in white heat, in a white room.

Was this what that noise had been, all this time? The thoughts of the entire universe? No wonder the Phoenix Force had a hard time caring. It would be like trying to care about a single, random locust in a swarm large enough to darken the sky. Even a mind like the Joker’s was completely unnoticeable in the crowd. There was no way Jason could have caught the Phoenix’s attention like this. So how _did_ he catch it?

He did the White Hot Room equivalent of turning to glare pointedly at the Phoenix Force. He could sense that it was there. It could definitely sense that he was there. Which meant that it completely ignoring his presence was a conscious choice. Had he pissed it off? Was it taking some time to think things over? Jason wasn’t about to start needling it for answers. It might just become human enough to become angry and smite him from existence.

As usual (though becoming less and less so the chattier the Phoenix Force got), he got tossed back into reality abruptly and without warning. At least this time he managed to keep his eyes closed and breathing even in order to pretend to still be asleep.

It was a good thing, too, because he didn’t wake up alone. There was a hand holding his. A familiar one. There were more scars on it than he remembered, but he remembered the shape – large, solid, comforting at some times and a vice burning Jason with shame at others. He remembered the way the index finger would wander slightly, going in small circles or tracing the metacarpal bone. He remembered the sound of that breathing.

He was afraid to open his eyes and see that he remembered wrong.

Whoever it was drew a sharp, familiar breath. Shit. Jason hadn’t been paying attention and let his breathing pattern change. Looks like the game was up.

He opened his eyes and found Bruce staring down at him. He also found the ceiling of the Batcave, not the hospital.

“God damnit, Bruce, did you kidnap me out of a hospital?”

Bruce grabbed him, pulled him close, and broke down in tears.


	27. Cannot Choose but Err

“It’s really you,” Bruce whispered wetly.

Jason was only confused for a moment before he remembered. This wasn’t his universe. This wasn’t his Bruce. He wasn’t his Jason. Any doubts on that were settled by the strange, unfamiliar Batcave looming at him over Bruce’s shoulder, decorated in masks and armor and various other paraphernalia of villains both unknown and familiar.

“I’m…” Oh, God, how was he supposed to explain this? How was he supposed to bring himself to snatch away this Bruce’s joy at his son’s apparent, miraculous return? “It’s complicated.”

Bruce let him go, wiping his tears away and returning to good ol’ robot mode. “I’d imagine. This… This _should_ be impossible.”

Jason shrugged. “So should going faster than the speed of light, but nobody’s told the Speed Force that.”

Bruce let out a grunt and examined Jason’s face closely. “You look older. As if you’d never…” The shift in his expression went beyond robot mode. It was just… empty. “Did you actually die?”

Clearly, Bruce was prepared for there to be no good answer. Might as well rip the band-aid off. “I don’t know about the Jason of this universe, but _I_ definitely did,” he said.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change. Not in the usual way, where it _seemed_ like nothing changed, but the people who knew him could see the minute signs. Jason literally couldn’t see any reaction. It was… scary. He would’ve vastly preferred it if Bruce started crying again.

“You’re from another universe,” said Bruce.

“Yeah. Maybe…” No. Jason wouldn’t say that maybe this universe’s Jason was alive. That kind of hope would be no blessing. “Never mind. I’m… sorry for the confusion.”

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked. “I doubt you would cross universes without a good reason.”

“Is getting away from you and all the family drama not reason enough?” Jason joked.

Bruce showed no sign of amusement.

“Sheesh, tough crowd. Something’s threatening the multiverse, so me and…” He looked around the cave to make sure Donna and Kyle hadn’t spontaneously appeared. “… And some other heroes who are probably freaking out over my sudden disappearance have been travelling to different universes trying to find the source.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Bruce growled. It looked like even if Jason couldn’t read him, he could still read Jason just fine.

“Look, like I said, it’s complicated. I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but the look on his face forcefully reminded Jason that this was _Batman._ With Batman, the more details the better, no matter how boring. Even a boring detail could mean the difference between life and death.

“And I’m kind of being hunted down by Darkseid,” Jason admitted.

Bruce finally showed some emotion – confusion. “Why would Darkseid be hunting you?”

“He wants my powers,” Jason half-explained. No need to give the full, terrifying picture.

“You have powers?”

“Yeah. Came with the whole ‘resurrection’ thing.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Explain.”

That tone was the same, at least. The one that flicked a switch in the lingering Robin part of his brain and made the idea of not telling Bruce every detail unthinkable.

“You asked for it,” he warned, propping himself up on the bed. “Get comfortable. It’s a long story.”

* * *

“We’re finally there yet!” Harley cheered, slowing the car to a stop.

Piper opened the door and stumbled out before she’d even put the parking brake on. Trickster followed him, continuing to loudly and discordantly sing the pop song that had been plaguing the radio stations every hour or so the entire trip. Honestly, Harley was pretty sick of it, too, but seeing Piper squirm and seethe was more amusing than the song was annoying.

While they got it all out of their system, Harley pulled out her phone and checked the internet again. No more sightings of Phoenix, or Troia or that Green Lantern, and no more sightings of Piper or Trickster. Not ideal, but definitely not as bad as it could’ve been. They’d just have to do a lot of snooping around.

She got out of the car and approached Trickster and Piper. Piper was now attempting to get his hands around Trickster’s throat to get him to shut up, and Trickster was clearly getting out of breath from having to fight him off. When he paused the singing to breathe, Harley loudly cleared her throat. They both froze in rather comical positions and turned to face her.

“Should I leave you boys to it, or do you wanna help me take a look around?” she asked.

“Sure, as long as he. _Stops. Singing._ ” Piper glared at Trickster with all the rage of a classical music major forced to listen to songs that all used the exact same four chords all day long.

Trickster smirked. “Sure.”

“That includes humming and whistling,” Piper quickly added.

Trickster pouted. “Isn’t it against the law to infringe on someone’s right of expression or something?”

“What are you going to do, walk into a police station to report that your fellow suspected murderer and supervillain won’t let you annoy him?” Harley asked.

Trickster sighed. “Where do you think we should start looking?”

Harley pointed to the nearby park. “Phoenix was last seen in there, with Troia and a Green Lantern. I figure one of us should look around for evidence, and the others can ask around for more information.”

“I’m not sure that splitting up is the best idea,” said Piper. “It’ll make us easier targets.”

“I know, Piper, I _have_ seen at least one horror movie,” said Harley. “As long as we’re careful, we shouldn’t be targets at all. Just ask questions a normal person would ask. Ease into it. Make small talk first. Come up with a cover story.”

Piper smirked at Trickster. “Looks like you’re on search duty.”

“I can ask questions like a normal person!” Trickster claimed, looking to Harley for support.

Harley shrugged. “He’s got a point, bud.”

“What am I even supposed to be looking for?”

“I dunno. Footprints? Bloodstains? You’ve seen a police procedural before, right?”

“Right, because those are _so_ accurate.”

They were burning daylight, of which there wasn’t much left, so Harley decided to put a stop to it. “Look, we’ve decided, just deal with it. Piper, let’s go.” She walked away before Trickster could argue.

She and Piper quickly split up to cover more territory, and to make sure the people they questioned didn’t feel outnumbered and threatened. People were always more confident and usually more willing to talk when they thought they could beat you in a fight. They were usually wrong about that with Harley nowadays, which made her more confident.

Natural, unsuspicious interrogations were hard. You had to have an entire conversation with a stranger, and choose precisely the right moment to ask your questions. Even Harley, who was pretty used to this sort of thing, messed it up a few times. Either she brought it up too early and weirded people out, which would cement the conversation in their memory and slip out if they were interrogated by the police, or she waited too long and the other person excused themselves to go deal with more important things than answering a stranger’s questions.

Even with the mistakes, she managed to get some useful information. Okay, maybe ‘some’ was an exaggeration. There’d been a lot of weird lights and noises coming from the same place Phoenix had been spotted, there was still a lot of damage, and Phoenix and his pals hadn’t been seen since. Not a whole lot to go on, but it was more than she knew before, and she didn’t want to see what kind of mischief Trickster and Piper would get up to if she left them alone any longer.

They’d agreed to meet up at the car when they were all finished. Harley was the first to arrive. She quickly pulled out her phone and checked for any updates regarding Phoenix, Piper and Trickster or any of their friends, or the weird stuff that happened in the park. She found, respectively, nothing, wild conspiracy theories and accusations, and a report from the police assuring people that whatever happened seemed to be over, and nobody got hurt. Again, more information than before, but not nearly enough.

Five levels of Candy Crush later, Trickster swaggered over twirling a dagger with a weird, curvy blade. Harley honestly expected him to mess up and drop it or cut himself, but he actually pulled it off. Maybe he _was_ actually a former circus member who turned his addiction for dramatics toward crime.

“So, the good news –“ Trickster began.

Harley cut him off. “Start with the bad news. That way, the good news is the last thing I remember.”

“Fine. The bad news is, I’ve got no idea what the fuck happened there. There were a lot of scorch marks and bullet holes, but if there was anything explaining how it happened the police must’ve already snatched it. The good news is, I found this cool knife in a tree.”

“You mean at the crime scene?” Harley resisted the urge to smack him. “That’s evidence! You’re getting your fingerprints all over it!”

“Whoa, relax, Harl! It was, like, a hundred feet away. Somebody probably just…” He paused, staring at the dagger thoughtfully. “Actually, I have no idea how it got wedged in a tree that deep. It seems pretty fancy, so if somebody threw it, they’d try and get it back, right?”

Harley held out a hand. Trickster handed the dagger over, and she examined it closely. She wouldn’t call herself an expert, but she’d seen enough knives to know that this was a _really_ nice one. Mister J would’ve – Nope. Not going down that rabbit hole today. Those kinds of thoughts were strictly reserved for when she was drunk. Suffice it to say it was not the kind of knife a sane person would just leave embedded in a random tree at the park.

“Maybe they were drunk,” she guessed, handing the dagger back. “Or they’re just stupid.”

Trickster rolled his eyes. “Nobody’s that –“ He stopped and thought it over for a moment. “No, you’re right, people _can_ be that stupid.”

Harley handed the dagger back over and looked around. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen Piper?” He should’ve been back by now, right?

Trickster shrugged. “He’s probably just yelling at someone over their music choices. What do –“

Footsteps approached. Normally, Harley would just give the (probably completely normal and innocent) intruder a casual glance and talk about the weather until they left. But something was off about those footsteps. They scraped across the ground and stumbled too much. It sounded like somebody getting dragged/pushed forward rather than walking under their own power.

Harley turned and took a step so that her hand was hidden behind her back and holding the handle of the car door closest to her hammer. Why the fuck hadn’t she brought it with her? Or, better yet, why hadn’t she brought a gun?

Neither would’ve been very helpful in this situation, because the woman holding a knife to Piper’s throat was clearly very well-practiced in using human shields. The only parts of her showing were her arm (which was pressed so close against Piper that a bullet would probably go through her and into him) and her head (which would require better aim than Harley had to be sure she’d hit her rather than Piper), and the time it would take for Harley to close the distance with her hammer would be more than enough for Piper’s throat to get slit.

“Pardon the interruption,” said the woman, not looking at all sorry.

Trickster pointed the dagger at her with one hand and discreetly reached into one of the pouches on his belt with the other. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Recognition finally hit Harley, delayed by not being able to see the catsuit and the curves lurking beneath. “Oh! It’s Talia! Talia al Ghul! We actually wanted to talk with you!”

Talia tilted her head slightly, like a predator who’d just heard the sound of prey. “Was this all a ploy to draw me out, then? There are far easier ways, you know. Ones that would not get me so…” Piper leaned his head back as far as he could and stared down at the dagger with wide, frightened eyes as it pressed harder against his skin. “… Agitated.”

Okay. Obviously, a hostage situation was not the way Harley imagined talking with Talia. It honestly felt kind of surreal to be on the other side of one. She had enough experience to know that she had to remain calm and not make any sudden movements if she wanted Piper to get out of this alive. And even if she did, there was a good chance Talia would just kill him anyway.

This clearly wasn’t Trickster’s first kidnapping rodeo, either, because he lowered the knife. “It wasn’t.” He looked suspiciously at Harley. “It wasn’t, right?”

“No! We’re just trying to find more information on Phoenix so we can…” Shit, she really should’ve come up with a script for something like this.

Talia’s face was a beautiful, impassive mask. “Please, do go on. I would very much like to know what, precisely, your interest in Phoenix is. Or, at least, what your employer’s interest is.”

“What makes you think we’ve got an employer?” Harley asked.

“None of you have ever so much as been in the same room as Phoenix,” said Talia, with a certainty that made Harley suspect she’d been keeping a _very_ close eye on him. “I somehow doubt you would randomly decide to begin investigating him of your own accord.”

“You underestimate how random my train of thought can be,” said Harley.

Talia pressed the dagger harder against Piper’s throat, drawing a small trickle of blood. Piper shot her a venomously panicked look that screamed _Shut the fuck up before she cuts my head off!_

“Phoenix is possessed and Athena’s trying to un-possess him,” Trickster blurted out.

Talia blinked at him in bemusement, her hold on Piper loosening just enough for him to be able to suck in a deep breath without cutting himself, but clearly nowhere near enough for him to actually escape. It only took her a few moments to recover and ask, “Athena? As in the Greek goddess of wisdom?”

“Yeah?” said Harley, desperately trying to recall every scrap of information she knew on the League of Assassins and whether or not they had beef with the Greek pantheon. “I mean, probably? She said she was, and she glowed and talked weird, so…”

“Whoever she was, you are certain she said he is possessed?” Talia asked, expression still carefully blank.

"Yup. She was very clear on that,” said Harley.

“Did she say who or what is possessing him?”

“Um… no? She just said it was ancient and powerful and bad?” Why was Harley making it sound like a question? Was she subconsciously asking the universe for clarification? Maybe. Probably. It was the subconscious, if she knew what it was doing, it wasn’t doing it properly.

Talia was way too hard to read for even the likes of Harley, who had extensive experience both as a psychiatrist and as somebody who spent a lot of time around violent sociopaths. “Yet she believes she can force whatever is possessing him to leave?”

Harley shrugged. “I mean, I think she knows what it is. She just didn’t want to tell me. Might be a Lovecraft kinda deal, where just hearing the name drives mortals to madness and stuff.”

“Did she say anything else?” Talia asked. Maybe it was just Harley’s imagination, but she seemed a smidge less aggressive, now.

“Uh… No? Not that I remember, anyway.” Again, it might just be her imagination, but Talia seemed disappointed rather than angered by the response, so she decided to push her luck a little. “Can you let Piper go now?”

Just like that, the knife was right back to a position where a single errant twitch would be the end for Piper. “It seems you still need something to jog your memory,” said Talia.

“That’s all we know!” Trickster snapped. “We already need your help, you don’t need a hostage to keep us talking.”

Talia thought it over for a moment. “I will release him in exchange for the kris.”

“For the what now?” Harley asked, confused. What the heck was a kree? Wasn’t that an alien from a movie or something?

Talia definitely would’ve rolled her eyes if she didn’t think she were above such plebeian expressions. “The dagger the Trickster is holding. The proper term is kris.”

Trickster looked between the kris and Piper a couple times, clearly weighing which one was more valuable. Harley glared disapprovingly and elbowed him in the ribs. Yeah, sure, she didn’t know Piper very well (hell, she didn’t even know his real name), but his life was worth more than a dagger. No matter how fancy the dagger was. Even if it was really, _really_ fancy. Even… No, it wasn’t, shut up, magpie part of her brain.

Trickster glared at Piper. “I expect compensation for this once this is all over,” he said as he tossed the kris to Talia.

Like a true ninja, Talia caught it by the handle effortlessly, releasing Piper in the process. He hurriedly stumbled toward Harley and Trickster, rubbing at his throat. “Are you sure we can’t attack her?” he growled.

“It would do you no good,” Talia scoffed as she took a closer look at the blade.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s three of us and only one of you,” Trickster taunted.

Talia raised an eyebrow and made a strange gesture with her hand. Six goons in black outfits that screamed ‘I’m a ninja/assassin/whatever!’ (which, when you thought about it, really wasn’t what their outfits should scream if they were good at their jobs of sneaking around unnoticed) appeared from seemingly nowhere (which, when you thought about it, meant that the outfits clearly weren’t getting in the way) and surrounded them.

“Or we could just talk,” said Trickster. “That’s fine, too.”

“What, precisely, do you need my help with?” Talia asked.

“Athena needs something of sentimental value to Phoenix in order to un-possess him,” Harley explained.

Talia waited a moment, as if expecting her to continue. “And?” she prompted when Harley didn’t.

“And I dunno! It’s supposed to help snap him out of it or something.”

Talia thought it over, seemingly absent-mindedly twirling the kris between her fingers. “Would that not be better accomplished by a person he cares for, rather than an object?”

Harley frowned. That made a lot more sense. But orders were orders. “Athena said definitely said object, not person. Maybe she’s worried about whatever’s possessing him hurting anyone who tries? It’s easier to replace an object than a person.”

“Fair enough,” said Talia. “None of that, however, explains why you three are the ones doing this.”

Trickster shrugged. “Piper and I didn’t have anything better to do. Plus, y’know, the whole national manhunt fugitive thing.”

“I don’t know why she chose me,” Harley admitted. “She said she wanted to give me a chance to get better at… being better. Y’know?”

“So, you are unaware of the debt you owe him?” Talia asked.

“Unaware of the what now?” Harley asked, re-checking her memories to make sure she hadn’t accidentally borrowed money from Phoenix or something.

“Phoenix was the one that killed the Joker,” said Talia.

Harley’s vision narrowed to a tunnel, focused on Talia’s face, searching for any sign she was lying or unsure or misinformed. She couldn’t find any. Talia was either a great liar, completely duped into believing a lie, or… or she was telling the truth. Phoenix killed the Joker.

She’d already suspected it. Hell, her suspicions were part of the reason she’d agreed to this whole adventure in the first place. This was just confirmation. It shouldn’t mean anything. Well, maybe _something_ , but not too much. She should be able to breathe. She should…

Somebody flicked her in the head, dragging her back to reality. She must have stumbled a little, because Piper was holding her by the elbow to keep her steady. Trickster was raising his hand again, preparing for flick #2. Harley slapped his hand away and slipped her elbow out of Piper’s grip.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, rubbing at her head and glaring at Trickster.

Trickster gave her a smug smirk. “Hey, don’t complain if it worked,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

Harley slapped his hand again and gave a smirk of her own as he hissed in pain. Then, she had nothing left to do but turn back to face Talia. Except for running away. She could always do that. That sounded like a pretty good idea. It was an idea she would have gone with, never thought about again, and been able to go about her life quite happily, in another time. But now she was trying to be a good person, and that meant seeing this through. Ugh.

“Got any proof of that?” she asked.

“None but Phoenix’s word and my conviction,” said Talia. “I know him. I know that he would have sought out the Joker while he was in Gotham, and I know that the Joker would not have survived that meeting.”

“Did you know that Phoenix wouldn’t join your weird ninja cult?” Piper asked bitterly. “’Cause it seems kind of weird to train someone you know is going to leave you.”

For a moment, Talia’s mask cracked and spilled out a rage as venomous as a Sydney funnel-web spider. Harley seriously considered going for her hammer, shuriken and throwing knives be damned, before Talia schooled her expression back into one of inscrutability.

“I was aware of the possibility,” she said. “Phoenix has always been too emotional and irrational for his own good. I hoped he’d mature and come to see reason. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Harley resisted the urge to point out that deciding to join a ninja cult wasn’t exactly ‘seeing reason’. She still needed Talia’s help. Plus, y’know, they were surrounded by members of said ninja cult who might just kill them on the spot for such disrespect. Not a good time to mouth off.

“Doesn’t sound like the kind of person you want to get possessed and given superpowers,” said Trickster.

“No, he isn’t,” said Talia. “Congratulations on your first intelligent thought.”

Piper slapped a hand over Trickster’s mouth before he could object. “Shut up and let us get this over with,” he hissed.

Harley nodded in agreement. “Okay. So we all agree that un-possessing Phoenix is a good idea, right? And I guess we know the reason Athena picked me.”

“But we do not know why she did not disclose her reasons,” said Talia.

She walked closer. Piper instinctively took a step back and reached a hand into his bag, probably for his magical flute or something. Trickster also slipped a hand into a pouch, probably not for a magical flute. Harley froze under Talia’s calculating, intent gaze.

They all stood in tense, battle-ready silence, until Talia nodded to herself and took a step back. “I do not trust Athena, or whoever she truly is. However, I do trust that your intentions are in Phoenix’s best interest.” She held out the kris. “I gave this to him nearly a year ago. If he has held onto it all this time, I doubt he discarded it purposefully. It likely has some sentimental value to him.”

Damn. That was some Wizard of Oz ‘Dorothy could’ve gone home the entire movie by clicking her heels’ shit. Meeting Talia at all was kind of pointless, huh? Except if they hadn’t met her, they’d have no idea the kris was what they were looking for. They might’ve pawned it off for some quick cash.

Harley reached out to take it, but Talia pulled it back out of reach. “I will give it to you on one condition,” she said. “If this procedure harms Phoenix in any meaningful way, I will personally hunt each of you down and kill you. Unless you convince me that it was unintentional on your part, it shall not be a swift death.”

If Harley thought about this decision at all, she was going to overthink it and never come to a decision. Better to just go with her gut. Right? Right. She took the kris. As she did, she said, “For the record, let it be known that I _do_ genuinely want to help Phoenix, so if things go wrong, I would like the painless option, please.”

“Death is rarely painless,” Talia warned.

Somebody threw down a smoke bomb. When Harley could see again, Talia and her Assassins were gone.


	28. Greener Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like nobody else is using indentation on this site, so I'm going to give it a go this chapter. If you guys prefer it like this, I'll try to go back and make the rest of the fic match (might fix some typos while I'm at it, too). Thank you for reading, indentation or not!

Jason had never told anyone the full, detailed story of what had happened to him since his death. He could count the number of people he trusted with that information on one hand, and he couldn’t bear the thought of the few people he still cared about rejecting him once they realized just how much he’d fucked up.

This was Bruce, but not his Bruce. If he kicked Jason out of the Batcave, he could handle it. He’d probably cry a lot and set something on fire, but he could handle it. It might be better for this Bruce to think that at least his Jason didn’t have to go through any of that. And Jason would know to never ever tell his Bruce the full story.

Even with that in mind, he couldn’t help but be hesitant and nervous when he started. Once the words began to come out, however, he found that he couldn’t have stopped them even if he wanted to. He’d _never_ said any of this out loud. He’d never had to put into proper words how awful it had been to be constantly barraged by thoughts of pain and cruelty, how scared he’d been of losing control and hurting someone, how many times he’d felt like everything would be better if he’d stayed dead, and how many times he’d considered rectifying whatever mistake had resurrected him. It was like the fucking Niagara Falls of words. Jason wasn’t sure if that meant it was a beautiful, healthy flow, or a deadly deluge that would see him smashed against the rocks in the end.

Bruce’s expression didn’t so much as twitch as the story progressed. A distant part of Jason’s mind registered that as worrying. Maybe even a little frightening. He should be letting _something_ slip, right? He could at least clench his jaw a little. But no, nothing. It was a not-so-nice reminder that this wasn’t the Bruce Jason knew. A reminder only that distant part of his mind took heed of. The rest was too caught up in the flood of words pouring out.

By the time Jason’s story reached the present, his throat was sore, he was blinking tears away, and Bruce _still_ hadn’t reacted. “And now we’re here,” he finished.

“I see,” Bruce grunted, disproving Jason’s theory that he’d turned into a statue. He got to his feet and stalked over to one of the display cases, cape billowing behind him as dramatically as Jason’s Bruce’s. Jason followed his gaze to what was unmistakeably one of the Joker’s literal calling cards, complete with bloodstains. “Things went differently here. _I_ did things differently.”

Jason had a bad feeling about this. “You should wait until the others get here so you don’t have to explain this twice,” he said.

Bruce ignored him and said, “I killed the Joker. And when I saw how much better the world was without him, I kept killing, and the world kept getting better.” He swept over to the Batcomputer and pulled up an internet browser. “Take a look for yourself. I’ll go get your associates.”

He was gone before Jason remembered how to breathe again.

Bruce killed the Joker. Not his Bruce, but _a_ Bruce. Somewhere out there, there was a Bruce that made sure Jason was the last person the Joker would ever be able to hurt. A Bruce that _understood._ A Bruce that loved him.

He shook himself and floated over to the Batcomputer. His Bruce did love him. He knew that. He’d seen it with his own telepathic, metaphorical eyes. But… he’d never _done_ anything about it. Sure, there was a creepy, infuriating memorial and a lot of criminals spent a lot of time in body casts during the aftermath of his death, but other than that it was business as usual. Another kid put on the costume, criminals kept getting out of Arkham so often they might as well put a revolving door in, and the world kept spinning, with or without Jason and the part of Bruce’s heart that died with him.

Even though he was levitating, he could still feel his legs shaking. He sank into the chair and wiped away the rebellious tears. _You can think about it later,_ he told himself. _You’ve got work to do._

As he began his research, he kept in mind the possibility that this was all faked. That he was just looking at a database Bruce had created that would paint the world with the brush he wanted. If he’d had such a database already prepared for whatever weird Batman reason, Jason knew he wouldn’t be able to find any holes. If it had been a rush job Bruce put together while Jason was unconscious, however, he _might_ be able to. He typed in a few search terms he was fairly certain a rushed Bruce wouldn’t think of, like ‘therapy’ or just about any subreddit that didn’t directly pertain to Gotham or superheroes.

It all painted the same picture. The same, far too wonderful, unrealistic picture. If any supervillains were still around, they’d long since gone to ground and weren’t likely to pop their heads up anytime soon. Without that threat around, a lot of superheroes decided to make their lives a lot easier and reveal their secret identities. Those that didn’t take a well-deserved retirement focused on fighting more mundane evils. Inequality, corruption, pollution, all that bland and terrible jazz that seemed insignificant compared to Doctor Pretentious trying to blow up the planet again, but was, in its own way, just as damaging. Obviously, there were still a lot of assholes out there hurting people, but it seemed like the world had entered a Golden Age Jason never would’ve thought possible.

And all it took was Bruce killing the Joker.

Part of Jason wanted nothing more than to tell his Bruce about this the moment he got back to his universe. To shove it in his face and scream, ‘Look! Look what your stupid rules prevented!’ The face he’d make as his worldview came crashing down would be... would be... It wouldn’t be hilarious. Jason cared too much about Bruce to enjoy seeing him suffer beyond mildly inconveniencing pranks and mockery. He’d take this secret to his final, permanent grave.

Or at least until the first fight with Bruce that got so bad he forgot how much he loved him and only remembered how much he’d hurt him, which made him want to hurt him in return.

A speaker crackled to life. “Phoenix, do you copy?” Batman growled.

It took Jason a few seconds to find the right button to activate the mic. He hadn’t used the Batcomputer since he was Robin, and obviously it had been upgraded a few times since then. “Roger that, sir,” he said. “Over. Alpha, foxtrot, blah blah blah military bullshit. You find Troia and Green Lantern yet?”

“Yes.” There was a faint click and rush of background noise. “They want proof you’re alive and well.”

“Uh… Okay?” said Jason.

“I dunno,” said Kyle. “Sounds like he might be mind controlled. He didn’t swear at us.”

“Well, fuck you, too, Rayner.”

“Oh, _now_ you’re acting in-character.”

“Kyle, please,” Donna sighed. “Jason, are you sure you’re all right? You got a bad nosebleed before you passed out, and the doctors seemed really worried.”

Jason rubbed beneath his nose and yep, that was definitely dried blood. He hadn’t pushed his limits far enough for a nosebleed since he left the League. He shouldn’t be surprised, considering he was pushing his telepathic range to a literally galactic level. He should probably just be glad his brain hadn’t started leaking out of his ears. The surprising thing was that his headache didn’t feel too bad, but that might just be because pain was becoming the new baseline.

He gave a shrug, for all the good it did without a visual feed. “About as all right as I can be, given the circumstances. Where are you guys?”

“Still at the hospital,” Batman grunted. “I don’t want to bring them back to the cave. Can you meet up with us…” A moment of hesitation. Or, rather, faux hesitation, because no way would Batman not already have a meeting place in mind. “… On top of Wayne Tower?”

Jason rolled his eyes. He didn’t want them knowing the Batcave was under Wayne Manor, but he just couldn’t resist the theatrics of still going somewhere with his secret identity plastered all over it. Typical Bruce. “Fine. Do you guys know where my helmet is? I’d rather not have to make a new one.”

“Yeah,” said Kyle. “I hid all your stuff… Hmm. Where did I hide it, again?”

“I swear to God, Rayner, if you’ve lost my shit –“

“We’ll meet you there,” Batman interrupted, and ended the call.

Jason spent a couple seconds staring blankly at the _Call Ended_ icon on the screen, putting off the moment he had to pull himself together and use his powers again. Then he looked around the Batcave, which was more of a grisly trophy room than anything else, and felt an unsettling, prickling feeling in his stomach that made him want to leave now and never come back. He didn’t know how feasible the ‘never come back’ part was, but he could definitely leave now. The only question was whether he left through the manor or through the blast doors.

Getting out through the manor would be a lot less strenuous than ripping open heavy-duty blast doors. On the other hand, he might run into this universe’s Alfred, and that would be so much worse than Bruce. At least Bruce was enough of an asshole that Jason didn’t feel like a _total_ piece of shit for snatching away any hope of seeing his Jason again. Alfred wasn’t an asshole. He didn’t deserve that.

Jason flew to the blast doors pried them open as gently as he could. It might just be his pessimistic imagination, but when he looked back as he flew away, he could’ve sworn the doors didn’t look like they fit properly anymore. Ah, well. Bruce could afford to pay for repairs. Especially now that he didn’t have to single-handedly pay for the repairs of the entire city every time someone got out of Arkham. Which happened a _lot_. Or, at least, it used to, in this universe. But it still was, back home. Ugh, why was it so hard to talk about alternate universes and time travel? Oh, right, because the English language was created by people who thought slapping leeches on people was good healthcare. Time travel and alternate universes would’ve been a bit beyond them.

He banished those thoughts before they made his brain explode and flew to the (mostly) familiar (it was probably just his imagination making it look more ominous) silhouette of Wayne Tower. He was the first to arrive. He wasn’t sure if that was a surprise or not. On the one hand, he was flying and didn’t have to make any stops along the way. On the other hand, Batman was Batman, alternate universe or no. Jason just kind of expected him to be better than him, superpowers or no.

He settled on the ledge as comfortably as he could, given the cast and feeling like his bones might snap and break through his skin with the wrong movement. Looking out at the city felt… weird. Really, really weird. It was like the uncanny valley of familiarity. It was close enough to the Gotham he remembered for his brain to register it as such, but the better infrastructure he could clearly see even in the dark and the lack of sirens and all the other objective improvements felt so strange and unnatural that his brain was convinced something was seriously wrong.

He closed his eyes and tried to meditate. As always, he wasn’t successful. He could never just focus on relaxing. His brain always insisted that he should be doing something productive, and refused to accept that letting himself relax and improve his mental well-being was productive. It was probably a leftover survival instinct from when he really _did_ have to spend every waking moment productively, and mental health took such a backseat to physical health that… that… Jason couldn’t think of a vehicle big enough where the term ‘backseat’ would still be applicable.

He gave up on meditating and instead tried to think through everything the Phoenix Force had said to him. Between thinking about this strange Gotham and the Bruce that created it, and the Phoenix Force, the Phoenix was actually more appealing, sad as the fact was.

 _When we first met, you weren’t…_ That was what the Phoenix had said, right before it kicked him out and gave him the silent treatment. Jason would never claim his memory was perfect, but he distinctly remembered those being the exact words. Words the Phoenix Force had clearly regretted letting slip so much Jason was surprised it hadn’t wiped them from his memory. Maybe it was starting to figure out boundaries. Maybe it realized doing so would make him hate it again if he ever found out. Or maybe it had some other reason unfathomable to the mortal mind.

 _When we first met._ What did that mean? After Deathstroke killed him? That was the first time Jason remembered actually talking to it. He didn’t remember doing anything to make it think he wouldn’t hate it. He’d just freaked out over… well… everything about that situation, and asked questions. Not exactly a promising start to a… whatever sort of relationship the Phoenix Force seemed to want.

Did it mean they’d met before? Had it erased his memory of that, too, and for some reason didn’t see fit to give it back to him? Why not? What had happened during that meeting, to make the Phoenix Force think he’d like it (or at least not hate it) while also being something it didn’t want him remembering?

He didn’t get any further than _Fuck knows_ before Donna and Kyle arrived. Kyle dropped the bag down next to him. “I was just joking about not remembering where it was,” he said.

Jason shot a glance at Donna, who nodded in agreement without hesitation.

“Ha ha,” said Jason in a monotone. He opened the bag and found his helmet, armor, weapons… Wait. “Where’s my kris?”

“Your what?” Kyle asked.

Right, of course the magical space cop wouldn’t have an encyclopaedic knowledge of common Earthly weapons. “My knife with the curvy blade,” he said, in the slow, clear way of one speaking to a small child. “Where is it?”

Kyle’s brows drew together in thought. It took a lot of self-control for Jason not to go into his mind and help him search his memory. “I don’t remember seeing anything like that,” said Kyle hesitantly.

“Do you mean the knife you threw at Darkseid?” Donna asked, with an expression that made Jason’s stomach sink.

“Yeah,” he said. “Did you –“ Oh. Right. The knife he threw at Darkseid, and didn’t have the chance to grab before he got hit by Omega Beams. “Shit. Right. Guess it’s still back on our Earth.”

He really shouldn’t be very upset over its absence. It was just a knife. A good knife, sure, but just an inanimate object he’d have little difficulty in replacing. But he couldn’t replace the memories of it. Even discounting the connection with Talia (which he wished his stupid heart would let him discount), that kris had seen him through a lot. Wandering through desolate wilderness, finding his footing in Karachi, enacting his plans in Gotham, and all the fallout from his utter failure at those plans. It had been a steady presence at his side. The only one, besides the Phoenix, and that didn’t count because he hadn’t known it was there.

Okay, maybe being upset was justified. But he couldn’t be upset right now. They had more important things to do. He looked through the bag for anything else that was missing. “Where are my clothes?” he asked.

“Probably still at the hospital,” said Donna. “Batman’s probably getting them.”

Right. It was already suspicious enough to bring in their ‘friend’ whom they knew practically no personal details about to the hospital claiming he’d fallen down some stairs. If they’d brought him in naked, the hospital staff probably would’ve immediately called the cops.

“What’s up with that Batman?” Kyle asked. “It wasn’t just my imagination that made him seem even scarier than our Batman, right?”

“It wasn’t just your imagination,” said Donna, shooting a questioning look at Jason.

Jason’s first instinct was to lie on Bruce’s behalf. It was a very deeply ingrained instinct. Bruce drilled him quite extensively on not letting anything that might compromise their secret identities slip. Even if this was a different Bruce, that instinct was still as strong as ever.

But this wasn’t his Bruce. And even if it was, fuck his Bruce. He was an asshole, and Jason shouldn’t have to cover for him. “Yeah. It’s not your imaginations. This Batman kills people,” he said.

Donna and Kyle stared at him like humanoid calculators asked to divide by zero. The idea of Batman, the most stubbornly rigid person on the planet, breaking his number one rule seemed like an impossibility. At least, it would to someone who didn’t know the man behind the mask and hadn’t spent years obsessing over the thought of him killing someone.

“How?” Donna eventually asked.

“I didn’t ask for details,” said Jason. And he probably never would. It would never be able to live up to all the fantasies he’d had about Batman killing the Joker. He hoped it involved a crowbar, though.

“That wasn’t what she meant,” growled Batman, betraying his presence.

If Jason’s startle response weren’t so worn down by experience and training, he might very well have gone tumbling off the building. “Well, nice to see some things are the same across universes,” he said.

Batman grunted and dropped a plain plastic bag next to Jason. He opened it and yep, those were his clothes. “Thanks,” he said, picking the bag up and floating back to his feet (or as close to ‘on his feet’ as he dared). “You mind if I break into your office to get changed?”

Batman’s mouth thinned into a familiar, disapproving line. “Yes, I do mind.”

In theory, Jason should just be able to shrug it off and get changed then and there. He still had boxers on, and he hadn’t picked up any horrible scars since the Phoenix Force wiped the slate clean during his resurrection. None of the present company were going to point and laugh (well, _maybe_ Kyle, but not for long before Donna smacked him) or… It should be fine.

_Should._

Jason shook himself and shrugged. “All right. Guess I’m continuing the Robin tradition of exhibitionism.” He turned around and started tugging the hospital gown over his head.

Luckily, everyone else felt just as awkward about the whole thing, and even with his back turned he heard the shuffling of feet turning to look away. Donna and Kyle began a somewhat stilted conversation with Batman, asking about the state of this world. They didn’t go into the details of why, exactly, this Batman decided to start killing people. Maybe they already had their suspicions, or maybe they were worried about ticking off a murderous version of the man pretty much everyone was already terrified of.

Jason lost track of the conversation when he ran into the problem of trying to pull pants on over the cast. The pants were already pretty stretchy, since the last thing Jason wanted was for his pants to tear in the middle of a backflip or something, but the headache he had afterward suggested he’d had to use a little subconscious telekinesis to pull it off. Or, rather, pull it on. God, he really was turning into Dick.

Once he was back in full Phoenix regalia, plus a leg cast, he turned back around to see where the conversation had gone.

“Look, I’m not saying the people who made the Cats movie _deserve_ to die,” said Kyle. “But, y’know, there was probably somebody somewhere along that line that could’ve been offed.”

Donna looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or be horrified. Batman looked like he was considering whether or not Kyle deserved to be offed.

“To be fair, the musical itself is pretty hard to adapt effectively,” said Jason, turning around.

“Why?” Kyle asked. “I liked other musical movies. Like, Sweeney Todd was done by the same guy, right?”

Jason bit down his knee-jerk rage and gave him the benefit of the doubt. “You mean the movie, or the stage musical?”

“Musical. Right?”

Now Jason was considering whether or not Kyle deserved to be offed. After a moment, he decided he deserved a second chance, and if he wasted that he deserved worse than death. “If you disrespect Stephen Sondheim like that again in front of me, I am going to telepathically make sure that Friday by Rebecca Black is stuck in your head on loop for the foreseeable future.”

“Jesus Christ, dude, chill!” said Kyle. “I was just –“

“Enough,” Batman snapped. “There are more important matters at hand. Phoenix said you came here with a Monitor. Where is he?”

“In space,” said Donna. “We don’t have any way of contacting him.” She looked at Jason. “Right?”

“Technically, I _was_ able to find him,” Jason argued. “I just couldn’t focus enough on him to communicate.”

“Really?” said Kyle. “Because from our perspective, you just said a dramatic line, got a nosebleed, and passed out. Again.”

Jason glared at him. "How about you try controlling god-like powers without passing out?"

Kyle smirked. "I have, actually."

Right. He had mentioned that. "Well, I suppose we can't all be you, Mr. Perfect."

Kyle's smile faded. "Sorry. I just... I know it isn't easy, having that kind of power. I can empathize with that. But do you have to be such an asshole about it?"

If Kyle meant for that to be a calming peace offering, he missed the mark by lightyears. "Sorry for not dealing with my brain melting on a regular basis in a way you approve of."

"That's what I mean! Why can't you -"

Donna interrupted him sharply. "We aren't here to argue." She shot Jason a glare that made it clear she believed it took two to argue. Then she turned to Batman. "Why do you ask?"

"Because this threat affects my universe as much as yours, and I want to know how to stop it," said Batman.

That was a pretty good reason. "I don't think he knows, either," said Jason. "If he did, you'd think he would've told us." It was only as the words came out that he realized how much he doubted them. If the Monitor's intentions were pure, then yes, he would've told them. If they weren't pure, as was the case with what felt like most people in the multiverse...

"You might not have asked the right questions," said Batman.

Coming from anyone else, Jason would feel insulted. But if anyone was going to know the right questions to ask, it would be Batman. A glance at Donna and Kyle's expressions showed that they'd come to the same conclusion.

"You're fine in space, right, Phoenix?" Kyle asked.

Jason nodded, a plan forming in his mind. "Yeah. Space is pretty big, though. Even if I push my telepathic range as far as I can without passing it, it'd still probably take a couple million years to find him."

Kyle fidgeted with his ring. "Come on, please be there, please still be there..." The ring projected what looked like some sort of space map. "Yes! It's still there." A winding line that didn't look like any space phenomenon Jason knew of glowed bright. "This is the path the Monitor wanted us to scan. It took about an hour to scan a sector, so if we divide the time since Donna and I last scanned then..."

"Then we can figure out where he should be now," Donna finished.

"Assuming the Monitor would take as long as you did," Batman pointed out.

Jason sighed and pouted at him. "Would it kill you to let us feel productive?"


	29. Conclusions

Obviously, things didn’t go according to plan, because things never did. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. The enemy, in this case, being reality.

Jason got the math right, but the Monitor wasn’t there when they arrived.

“Batman was probably right,” said Kyle, in the slightly high-pitched tone of somebody assuring themselves as much as others. “The Monitor’s more experienced at this stuff. It probably took him a lot less time. If we keep following the path, we should be able to find him.”

“Right,” Jason agreed. Still, he kept his mind as wide open as he dared as they continued. His non-White Hot Room range wasn’t that big, astronomically speaking, but hopefully he’d be able to pick up the Monitor if he’d gone a bit off the marked path.

It was hard to keep track of time in the vast emptiness of space (especially since he was pretty sure time literally passed differently in different parts of it), so it was impossible to say how long they looked. The best descriptor would be ‘long enough to get frustrated, but not so long that they gave up’.

The Monitor was pretty easy to notice, both generally and telepathically speaking. He popped up bright and clear on Jason’s radar the second he got in range.

Jason willed himself to a stop so he could focus without worrying about crashing into anything. He closed his eyes and knocked on the front door of the Monitor’s mind, so to speak. The Monitor quickly opened up, broadcasting a wordless feeling of _This had better be worth my time._ Jason sent a feeling of _Just get over here before I start badmouthing you to the stars._

By the time Jason opened his eyes again, the Monitor was floating in front of him. “Have you discovered anything regarding the threat?” he asked.

“No,” said Kyle, crossing his arms across his chest. “But we suspect there’s a lot you know that we haven’t discovered yet.”

The Monitor’s expression didn’t change much, but Jason could sense a wave of annoyance come off him. “I have told you everything that was relevant and understandable. Now, if you will excuse me, I am picking up some promising signals.”

“Define promising,” said Jason.

The Monitor didn’t answer immediately. Jason could hear the gears turning in his head, sorting information into a ‘Tell the Puny Humans’ pile and a ‘Keep Secrets Like an Asshole’ pile. One of those piles was a lot bigger than the other, and Jason was getting pretty tired of it.

“And by that, I mean actually tell us what the fuck we’ve been scanning for all this time,” he snapped.

Kyle shot him a warning look, but he didn’t say anything. Even without the telepathy, which he was too mad to turn off at the moment, Jason would be able to tell that he didn’t want to piss off the Monitor, but he was also tired of being left in the dark and wanted to hear the answer.

The Monitor considered it for only a moment. “Very well. The ripples made by the coming disaster have a unique energy signature. This signature was somewhat similar to White Energy, which is why we wished to consult the Phoenix Force. In this universe, I have detected what you might consider the other half of the signature.”

“So, you found the stuff coming off the disaster that didn’t match with the Phoenix Force?” Jason clarified.

“It is probable,” said the Monitor.

Kyle’s expression brightened. “That’s good, right?”

“It’s the possible end of the multiverse,” Jason reminded him. “I wouldn’t call it good.”

Kyle waved him off and said to the Monitor, “So, where’s the signature coming from?”

“From another ripple,” said the Monitor. “One not so large, but much easier to track. It appears to be a being of significant power that will soon arrive in this universe to wreak destruction.”

“Sounds like a multiversal threat,” said Jason. “But it also sounds like it’s not the one you’re looking for. The one you’re looking for…” An idea struck Jason like a lightning bolt, in all the worst ways. “… The one you’re looking for has a combination of this guy’s power and mine.”

“Technically speaking, it is the Phoenix Force’s power, not yours. But yes. That would explain the power signature.”

“So, you’re saying this guy is going to try and steal the Phoenix Force?” Kyle asked. “Is it Darkseid?”

“No,” said the Monitor. “It appears to be the man you know as Monarch.”

Kyle went pale and swore.

“Who’s Monarch?” Jason asked.

“Captain Atom, but…” Kyle paused, struggling to come up with a proper adjective amidst his mounting panic. “Wrong. I don’t know what happened to him, but it wasn’t good. Last time I saw him he was plotting something he didn’t want the Monitors knowing about. Shit, I should have thought of him earlier.”

Captain Atom? The name was familiar, and one more associated with heroes than villains. But time and the mental manipulation and trauma that went hand-in-hand with superheroism could change a lot. “You think he’ll try and take the Phoenix Force?” Jason asked.

“I don’t know if he even knows the Phoenix Force exists,” said Kyle. “But I don’t think it’d be too out of character for him.”

“And it’s the best explanation for the energy signature.” Jason looked to the Monitor. “We can still stop whatever’s making ripples, right? If we couldn’t, you wouldn’t be bothering with all this.” If they couldn’t, there was nothing they could to about Monarch taking the Phoenix Force. Jason knew he was far from the best person to have the Phoenix’s power, but he was also far from the worst person. The worst person would… well… cause untold destruction across the entire multiverse.

“Time is… finicky,” said the Monitor. “Considering that we detected it at all, it’s unlikely we will be able to fully stop the disaster. However, we can minimize the damage it causes. If we are prepared, we may be able to keep it contained within one universe. In order to be prepared, I will need to finish these scans.”

“How long will that take?” Jason asked.

“As long as needed.” The Monitor pulled out his device and began pressing buttons, eliciting a series of beeps and a roiling, impotent rage in Jason’s gut. If the Monitor didn’t want to talk, there wasn’t much they could do to force him.

Jason still flipped him off as he and Kyle flew away.

Having a conversation was kind of difficult when you were waving at the speed of light in the rear-view mirror and trying not to crash into any stray planets along the way. So, Jason waited until they were safely back in Earth’s atmosphere to come to a stop and swear at the top of his lungs.

“What is it?” Kyle asked, with an annoyed tone that suggested he very nearly ended that sentence with a ‘now?’.

“Monarch is gonna get the Phoenix Force.” Jason instantly regretted saying it out loud. It made it feel more real, and he didn’t want it to be real, for a lot of reasons. He didn’t want people to get hurt, obviously. But, weirdly enough, he also didn’t want the Phoenix Force to get hurt. It was _trying_ to understand, to be better at the whole human thing, and that was more than a lot of actual humans could truthfully say. And Jason couldn’t imagine a scenario where the Phoenix left him without getting hurt, whether it was Monarch ripping it away by force or it finally coming to realize what a fucked-up mortal it was using as a measuring stick and leaving of its own will. At least with the former it would simply be a matter of finding a way to undo it and letting the Phoenix Force go free. If it was the latter…

A loud noise close to his face startled him out of his thoughts. He instinctively raised a telekinetic shield, flew back and away, and pulled a gun. Once the initial panic passed, he realized that the only thing within earshot was Kyle, who was holding his hands up in placating surrender, and the sound was more akin to somebody clapping in his face to get his attention than any sort of threat.

“Could you wait until we’re on the ground again to space out like that?” Kyle asked, lowering his hands. “And also wait until we’ve explained everything to Donna and Batman?”

Jason had had enough meltdowns to know what it felt like when was coming, and how long he could keep it down before it broke its shackles and ran rampant. This one was coming like a freight train, and there would be no stopping it, much less holding it back long enough to go through a lengthy explanation, since he doubted Kyle had suddenly developed a grasp on metaphysics and Batman would have a _lot_ of questions.

“I need a minute,” he growled. “You go talk to them.”

Before Kyle could argue, Jason flew away. He closed his eyes and imagined himself flying to the middle of the Sahara Desert. That seemed like a pretty safe place to let loose.

He felt sand shift beneath his feet as he landed, along with a stab of pain from his leg that he ignored. He could only focus on so much pain at once, and the emotional pain was more concerning. He opened his eyes and mind to take in his surroundings. No signs of life. Perfect.

He closed his eyes, curled up into a fetal position, and let his emotions wash over him.

He was going to fail. He was going to lose the Phoenix Force, and with it any hope he had of stopping Monarch. He knew that even without powers, he was smart, capable, and skilled, but what good were smarts against an opponent that could read his mind? What good would a measly human punch do against a telekinetic shield that could tank a punch from Superman (or at least an alternate universe version)? He knew just how much power the Phoenix Force could give to its host. He’d wielded it, after all, and that was without any pre-existing power. Monarch was already dangerous enough to make Kyle, an experienced Green Lantern, worried.

And the worst part was that they wouldn’t be in this situation if Jason had just minded his own business and left saving the multiverse to people more stable. It was like all those prophecies in myths, where trying to stop them only ensured they came to pass. If he’d done nothing, there would have been no need to do anything. Which didn’t make sense, and probably would’ve caused a time paradox, too.

He was on fire, again. Any tears that leaked through his eyelashes quickly evaporated. He didn’t notice the heat, except, for some reason, on his hand. The heat there grew, not painfully (temperature hadn’t been painful in a long time), to the point that it almost felt like a physical presence. It seemed to close in, squeezing his hand.

What _was_ painful was the white-hot flare in his mind as the Phoenix Force whispered, _I will not go willingly. Whatever happens, I will do all in my power to help you._

To Jason’s surprise, he was still sitting upright when the white spots in his vision cleared, and the sun didn’t look like it had moved. He hadn’t passed out, for once. Take that, Kyle. Maybe he was getting used to the Phoenix talking to him. Or maybe it was just that the Phoenix only said, like, two sentences to him.

And what sentences they were. He wasn’t completely comforted and relaxed by them, because the situation was still fucked six ways to Sunday, but he was able to breathe out some of the tension gripping his chest like a vice and let the flames die out. The Phoenix Force was on their side. Even if they couldn’t stop Monarch from taking it, they could stop him from causing harm with it the moment they gave it the opportunity. Jason could work with that without screaming or crying.

He pulled off his helmet and rubbed his face until he was sure there was no sign of tears left. Or, at least, none that anyone except Batman would notice. He put the helmet back on, closed his eyes, and took flight, imagining himself arriving at the entrance to the Batcave. The view was probably beautiful from this high, but Jason didn’t dare open his eyes as he felt the wind rush past him. If he saw where he was going, he might start to realize he didn’t actually know where he was going, and when it came to using his powers the less he knew, the better. Plus he didn’t want to look down, develop acrophobia, throw up, and then have that throw up fall long enough to reach terminal velocity and kill someone.

Instead, he spent the trip deciding on the exact words he’d use to explain this new development. If he didn’t, then he’d inevitably let slip more of his true feelings than he intended, and talking about feelings in the Batcave simply was not done. Or, at least, never done without devolving into lectures, screaming matches, or tears. Even after he realized that they probably wouldn’t be in the Batcave, unless Batman blindfolded them and spun them around three times, and switched trajectory back to the roof of Wayne Tower, he kept planning, because he’d rather avoid acknowledging any feelings besides anger (which wasn’t very productive during a briefing) no matter the place.

He had a decent outline by the time he came to a stop. He opened his eyes and to his annoyance but not surprise found that they weren’t there. Typical. He opened his mind and searched the city until he found them… talking with Superman and Wonder Woman. Or, rather, Clark and Diana, because they’d retired in this peaceful universe. Jason flew over to the empty office building they were meeting in and knocked on the window. Clark was already there, looking out (he probably heard something flying at them at high speed and went to see if it was something he had to punch). After a moment of startled blinking, he opened the window.

With some telekinetic help, Jason was able to somewhat gracefully clamber into the room and levitate just slightly above the ground. “Hey, Clark. Hey, Diana. Good news, guys! The Phoenix Force says it’s gonna try and help us.”

Donna frowned. “How is it going to help us?”

Shit. Jason hadn’t gotten this far when he was writing the script in his head. “Uh… It doesn’t want Monarch as a host, so if we give it the opportunity, it’ll leave him.”

“Did it say what sort of opportunity it would require?” Batman asked.

Jason shrugged. “Guess we can’t know until we know how Monarch gets it.”

“Are we _really_ sure Monarch is going to get it?” asked Kyle. “I’ve read enough Percy Jackson to know that prophecies are bullshit.”

“It’s not prophecies, it’s… I don’t know what it is, but the energy signature has to come from somewhere,” said Jason.

“And you’re certain the signature could only be caused by Monarch becoming the Phoenix’s host?” asked Batman.

Jason hesitated. _Was_ he certain? It seemed like the most obvious explanation, but a Bat was never supposed to settle for the obvious without due diligence. What other explanations were there? Another being who just so happened to have a similar energy signature? An alternate version of Monarch that obtained an alternate version of the Phoenix Force? Or could Jason somehow absorb Monarch’s powers instead of the other way around? It wouldn’t be… Okay, yes, it would probably be the weirdest thing he’d done with his powers, but it seemed like nothing was out of the realm of possibility. Did he just have a fiery meltdown over baseless paranoia? If he did, he blamed it on Bruce. If Bruce set things on fire whenever his paranoia got the better of him, there’d be nothing left of the planet but ash.

“On second thought, no, I’m not,” he said. “But we should be ready for it if it happens.”

He realized that Diana and Clark had yet to contribute to the conversation. He glanced at them and found them both staring at him like… like… like he’d come back from the dead. Which he had, in their eyes. He probably should’ve addressed that first.

“Did Batman fill you guys in?” he asked.

Clark nodded. “He did, but…”

“But it’s one thing to hear it, and another to see it for yourself,” said Diana, stepping closer. “You’ve grown.”

 _Here we go again._ Except this time, he’d feel guilty about telling her to cut it out. “Really? I never noticed.” Sarcasm was still on the table, though. “Why are you guys here, anyway?” Jason would have doubted his own Bruce would call them in just to give them a chance to talk with him, and this Bruce seemed even less likely to do so.

“Firepower,” Batman grunted. “Some other League members have agreed to pitch in if needed, as well.”

That was more like it. Perfectly logical. To somebody who hadn’t seen what the Phoenix Force could do, at least. Jason wasn’t one of those people. He knew exactly how easy it would be to incapacitate Superman. Wonder Woman could be handled the same way. Telekinetic barrier to stop her from using her lasso, and if he couldn’t overwhelm her telepathically, he could probably break enough bones to put her out of commission. Same for Donna. Kyle… Having remarkable willpower was a requirement for a Green Lantern, so telepathy would be tricky, and physical damage probably wouldn’t stop him from using his ring. Unless Jason – No, not Jason, Jason wouldn’t do that – Unless _Monarch_ telekinetically ripped his hand off. Would that work? At the very least, it would probably distract him enough for a psychic takedown. And Batman, for all his intelligence and skill, was only human. Only mortal.

Jason realized he’d just come up with a decent plan to kill everyone present in less than a minute, when he had no intention of hurting any of them. How long would it take Monarch to come up with that kind of plan?

“I don’t think it’s feasibly possible for us to overpower the Phoenix Force,” he said aloud. “I don’t know if it’s possible, period.” A _very_ worrying thought occurred to him. “And even if it possible, I don’t know if it’s a good idea. The Phoenix is the personification of life. If life itself gets damaged…”

“The Phoenix Force comes from your world, yes?” Batman clarified.

Jason nodded, confused for only a moment before he connected the dots. “Yeah, so in theory it wouldn’t affect your universe, but I’d hope you would agree that all life in a universe being endangered is a bad thing even if you don’t live there.”

“Of course,” said Clark, while Diana shot Batman a… troubled… look.

The worrying thoughts just kept on coming for Jason. “How much, exactly, have you told them?” he asked Batman, in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t just talking about the Phoenix Force and multiverse. Did the other superheroes know the reason they’d been able to retire? Clark’s body language and expression were far too open and friendly for him to know his BFF had killed people. Diana… She seemed a little more guarded than usual, but she would also be less disappointed. She knew the necessity of lethal force, even if she would do everything in her power to make sure things didn’t come to that.

“Enough,” said Batman, in a tone that made it clear that no, he hadn’t told them about the whole murder thing, and if Jason knew what was good for him, he’d keep his mouth shut, too.

“What are you talking about?” Clark asked, innocently confused.

Jason shrugged. “Just personal stuff,” he lied. “Nothing relevant. So, what’s the plan?”

“Hal’s heading to Oa to get more info on the Phoenix Force,” said Kyle. “See if we can get any hints on how to remove it from a host or overpower it.”

“Is there anything you haven’t told us?” Donna asked. “We can’t come up with a good plan of attack without all the information possible.”

Jason doubted they wanted to hear about the Phoenix’s weird cuddling habits… No, wait, that was exactly the sort of thing she meant. The stuff he thought was unimportant or embarrassing or any other adjective that made him not want to talk about it, but could provide more insight so they could come up with a better plan. God fucking damn it. “I don’t think it’ll be very happy about being forced to change hosts. It seems pretty attached to me.”

“Why?” Kyle asked. Donna quickly elbowed him, though it probably caused much less discomfort than the glare Batman shot him. Kyle understandably felt the need to clarify. “I mean, just a little while ago you were ranting about how unfeeling it was.”

“Well, since then I’ve discovered that it _can_ feel, it’s just complete and utter shit at it,” he said. _I guess we have that in common. Is that why it chose me? No, that doesn’t make sense. If the whole point was to figure out mortal feelings and emotions, why would you choose somebody who sucked at it? When you want to learn something, you go to an expert, not some random guy who’s barely better than you._

“So, if given the opportunity, it would turn on Monarch?” said Diana.

Jason nodded. “Yeah. _If_ we can give it the opportunity.”

“We can,” Clark said confidently. “We’ll figure something out.”

“And in the end, it may not be necessary,” said Diana. “Predicting the future is no easy feat. Sometimes, it’s as if it changes to spite our expectations.”

“Well, I guess if life’s a bitch, time can be one, too,” Jason muttered.

Batman shot him a look of _Don’t antagonize the unfathomably powerful space bird_ and asked, “Do you know precisely how the Phoenix took you as its host?”

“No.” Jason would have left it at that, but he was supposed to be honest right now, and the looks everyone gave him told him they didn’t believe that was all he had to say on the matter. “It gets all weird when I about why or how it chose me. And even if it didn’t, I don’t think the mechanics would be the same.” He’d say that step one of Monarch recreating his possession would be to get himself killed, but this really wasn’t the audience for that kind of humor/coping mechanism.

Kyle sighed. “Great. Do you at least have any suggestions for how we should deal with a Phoenix-y Monarch?”

 _Don’t. Just run away and hope somebody else can stop him._ But these weren’t the kind of people that listened to that sort of reason. It was far too selfish and practical. They would all happily give their lives for the slightest chance of saving someone. Jason could be that sort of person, too, but at least he _knew_ it was stupid. And right now, he knew that being one of those people they were willing to die for felt nowhere near comforting. The complete opposite, actually. If somebody had to die because he was stupid enough to get himself involved in something like this, then it should be him. He’d be fine with that. He wouldn’t be fine with somebody else paying for it. He’d be the complete opposite.

A resolution formed in his heart. Nobody was going to die for him. No matter what he had to do.

Right now, though, there really wasn’t anything to do about it, so he just said, “Let’s wait until the Monitor gets back. He’s the only one with any idea what the fuck is going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't gotten any feedback on the formatting, so I'm going to continue like this. Let me know if you'd prefer I go back to the old way. Thank you all for reading and supporting my story.


	30. White Lies and Black Truths

For once, Jason breathed a sigh of relief when the Monitor showed up. Without important strategic matters to occupy them, Diana and Clark busied themselves hovering over Jason. He knew that they meant well, and it was probably therapeutic to be able to ask the sort of questions and imagine the sort of happy adult life they’d never be able to with their Jason. So, he humored them and didn’t tell them to fuck off. Oh, and he lied. He lied a _lot_. He had to make his imaginary life believably flawed (no, he wasn’t in college, it was kinda hard to apply when you were legally dead), but he wanted them to believe he was at least somewhat well-adjusted (yes, he was still in the same ol’ vigilante business, definitely not the more murderous side of the biz).

Lying to people he liked was exhausting enough. Pretending to be happy on top of that made him _very_ relieved when the Monitor appeared before them in a pop of air pressure.

That relief quickly fled once the Monitor opened his mouth. “I have confirmed that the most likely explanation for the energy signature from the coming disaster is the power of the Phoenix Force being mixed with Monarch’s, and Monarch and his army shall arrive in this universe shortly.”

Kyle swore.

“His army?” Diana repeated, expression turning to one of grim determination.

“Yes,” said the Monitor. “It appears that one of my counterparts was already aware of Monarch’s plans, and as a countermeasure convinced one of Kal-El’s counterparts to defeat him.”

Clark’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment before they narrowed in suspicion. “Why doesn’t that sound like a good thing when you say it?” he asked.

“This counterpart is… aggressive,” said the Monitor. “Any victory at his hands would come with severe casualties. And it is unlikely he will react well when he learns that Solomon was dishonest with him.”

“Who’s Solomon?” Jason asked with a groan. If there was _another_ evil alternate universe version of someone he knew, he was going to have to find an entire deserted _planet_ to take out the amount of anger and frustration he’d have.

“Another Monitor. Since we’ve been working so often with mortals, many have taken on individual names to differentiate us.”

“What’s your name, then?” Kyle asked.

“I did not think it important,” said the Monitor – well, _their_ Monitor.

Shit. This was already getting confusing. “I disagree,” said Jason. “Come up with a name, or I’m coming up with one for you.”

“I do not think it is necessary to –“

Jason did his best vocal impression of a buzzer. “Too late. You’re Bob now.”

Bob the Monitor let out an exhale through his nose that was probably the closest he’d ever come to a sigh. “If you insist. Now may we focus on more important matters?”

Right. Like the fact that not only was there a powerful supervillain (or, at the very least, brainwashed superhero) that may or may not gain the power of the Big Bang, but he also had an army at his disposal _and_ a version of Superman that the dude who considered getting near-fatal wounds a good learning experience was ‘aggressive’ at his heels. And unlike the aggressive not-Superman from the last universe, Jason might not have the Phoenix’s powers if he confronted him. Yup, once this was over, he was _definitely_ finding some planet that had to get destroyed to make way for a space highway or something and doing the job for them.

Jason mostly kept quiet as the discussion (or, more accurately, interrogation) took place. Batman asked all the questions he’d wanted to, and he was able to do it without snapping and swearing at everyone. The only times he had no choice but to speak was when somebody asked about his connection with the Phoenix Force. Luckily, all of those questions could be answered with “I don’t know”, “I’m not sure”, or “Technically yes, but I’d really rather not”. Nice, short responses that had no danger of devolving into any more paranoid breakdowns or angry rants. Hooray.

The further the questioning went, the more appealing the thought of angry rants became. By all accounts, it seemed like the Phoenix Force _should_ be able to deal with it. Any opponents Jason couldn’t deal with physically he _should_ be able to deal with psychically. Hell, if Monarch was brainwashed, he might be able to break through it and make everyone’s lives much easier. But if he could handle it all, what was the explanation for the energy signature? What else could this great disaster truly be? Either Monarch or not-not-Superman or one of their lackeys had a trick up their sleeves, or there was _another_ multiversal threat lying in wait for them.

And the more Bob talked, the more Jason wanted Diana and Clark (hell, even Bruce, Donna, and Kyle) to not have any part in it. If Jason maintained control over the Phoenix Force, they wouldn’t be needed. And if he couldn’t, then he doubted they’d be able to do much good. As great as they all were in a fight, chances were there’d be at least one evil version of each of them on the other side who were just as good, plus lots of backup. As the realization cemented itself, Jason kept his mind firmly shut. If he had to sense anyone resolving themselves to give their life in this fight, he was going to throw up. Hell, he might throw up even without the telepathic confirmation. Their expressions were more than enough.

The sick feeling grew and grew, and everyone kept on talking, circling around and around the inescapable, horrible truth, hoping that if they’d find the permutation of the same question that would get them a better answer. Eventually, Jason couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can we finish this later?” he asked abruptly while Kyle took a breath to ask another question. “My leg’s bothering me.”

Everyone save Bob stared at him in abject horror, and Batman swooped in like the smothering mother hen he was, regardless of universe. Jason realized a moment too late that he, a Bat, saying ‘my leg’s bothering me’ was the equivalent of a normal person saying ‘I think my leg is literally irreparably damaged’. He didn’t bother correcting the misunderstanding, though, because it was already a lie, and it was clearly accomplishing its goal. Batman grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the room (it took some effort for Jason not to laugh at the sensation and mental image of being pulled along like a human-shaped helium balloon, since he was still levitating), barking one last order at Clark to keep notes on any further discoveries.

Jason was toted down to the Batmobile. Batman opened the door to the backseat, then looked back at Jason with a frown. “Your leg isn’t bothering you,” he growled.

Jason shrugged sheepishly. “No, but the conversation was. Didn’t want to be rude.”

It was something of an old joke between him and Batman. Joining the Wayne family meant joining high society, which meant lots and lots of lectures on proper behavior and words like ‘decorum’ and ‘propriety’ that Jason had literally never heard of before. Jason had been a conniving smartass long before he met Bruce, so he used his manners when it suited him and only then. Some old lady who smelled like she’d dumped a gallon of perfume on herself and would have probably spat on him had they met a year ago was trying to get in his face and pinch his cheeks? Fuck politeness, and fuck her. But Bruce was trying to step in before two rival businessmen got into a fistfight in the middle of a gala? That would be so rude, Bruce, don’t shove your nose into other people’s business. Every time Jason pulled that trick, Bruce would shoot him a glare that might have been scary if he weren’t so clearly struggling not to smile.

This time, Batman didn’t give so much as a twinge of emotion. He just swept around to the driver’s seat and waited for Jason to get in.

Jason carefully positioned himself for as little leg-jostling as possible and tried not to feel hurt. Maybe the joke never existed in this universe. Or maybe Batman had forgotten about it in the passing years. Besides, he had far more important things to feel upset about right now.

Batman started up the car and kept his eyes on the road as he said, “If you had objections, why didn’t you voice them? You never…” The Batmobile swerved slightly as his fingers clenched around the steering wheel. “The version of you in this universe never had trouble with that.”

Jason had neither the time nor emotional capacity to work through the implications of that verbal stumble. “Because none of them would have listened,” he said.

Batman made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror – or, at least, as close as he could with a cowl and a helmet in the way. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

It was an order, not a question. And Jason was a good soldier, however much it enraged him. “I don’t think any of you should be involved in this fight,” he blurted out. “The way I see it, it all comes down to me. If I win, I can win by myself. If I lose, we all lose. It’d be more logical for me to confront them alone.” Using the ‘logic’ argument with Batman was always a gamble. If you got it right, he didn’t have any argument against it, because he was the one who always insisted on looking at things logically. If you didn’t, however, you’d get a lecture on what the _actual_ logical thing to do in that situation would be. And this Batman seemed like even more of a hardass than the one Jason knew.

Batman was silent for a little while as he thought it over, or at least while his robot brain crunched the numbers and came up with the correct sequence of zeros and ones. Finally, the calculations finished, and he said, “You’re right.”

Jason blinked in confusion a couple times, like it would help with what had to have been some sort of auditory glitch in the Matrix. He’d expected Batman to put up a fight. Hell, he’d expected Batman to put up a fight and refuse to surrender, no matter how many good points Jason made. He’d been mentally preparing ways to trick him into keeping himself and the others away. He hadn’t expected such ready agreement. He hadn’t expected Batman to be so willing to leave him to possibly die alone.

 _This isn’t your Batman,_ he reminded himself. _And you’re not his Jason._

“Okay,” he said, his voice coming out sounding strange to his own ears. “So… How do we do that?”

“We’ll need the Monitor’s cooperation,” said Batman. “How difficult will that be to secure?”

“Easy as –“ Jason hissed as an abrupt turn jostled his leg. “I dunno. Easy. Bob’s kind of a dick.”

“That doesn’t make him easy to convince,” Batman growled.

“It does when the thing we’re trying to convince him of is a dick move.”

“It is the most logical course of action.”

“And also a dick move.”

Batman recognized the futile fight for what it was and dropped it. “If you’re right about his willingness, he could give the others the wrong location so we face the lesser part of the army, while you deal with Monarch.”

Jason chewed the inside of his cheek as he pictured it. “That’s still closer to the action than I’d like.”

“How far would you prefer them to be?” Batman asked, with a hint of exasperation. Jason understood. Trying to convince Diana and Clark to stay away from danger was like convincing lemmings not to walk off a cliff.

“Uh… another universe?” Jason only realized the words weren’t completely sarcastic after they left his mouth. “Wait, actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s also not a feasible one,” said Batman. “Not with Superman and Wonder Woman, at least.”

 _Superman and Wonder Woman, not Clark and Diana, huh?_ Jason filed the thought away for later. “Yeah, probably not. With Bob’s help, we might be able to convince Donna and Kyle, though. Tell them to go back home and gather reinforcements or something.”

Batman let out a grunt of acknowledgement. The rest of the drive passed in thoughtful, awkward silence.

* * *

Harley let out a breath and sagged against the car. She had no idea how they’d managed to get out of that situation without anyone getting killed, much less how they’d completed their mission while they were at it.

“Anyone else in favor of a stiff drink after that?” Trickster asked with an equal amount of relief.

Piper gestured to his throat. “After I get this bandaged? Fuck yes. And I’m not paying.”

Harley opened the car door and grabbed the first aid kit she kept in the glove compartment, along with her hammer, just in case somebody else tried their luck and gave her an opportunity to release all the adrenaline still coursing through her. With the well-practiced movements of somebody who’s spent a lot of time dealing with injuries, she opened the kit and pulled a band-aid out with one hand. “Here ya go,” she said brightly, handing it to Piper.

He stared at it in distaste. “You really want me walking around with a Frozen band-aid?”

“Hey, they were on sale, and it’s a good movie! What, are you afraid of random strangers questioning your masculinity?”

Trickster rolled his eyes. “We already know you’re gay, Piper, just put the band-aid on and let’s get drunk.”

Huh. No wonder her half-hearted attempt at seduction didn’t work. Nice to know it wasn’t because she was losing her touch.

Piper put the band-aid on and got into the car with them, rubbing away any remaining blood on his skin.

“You guys know anywhere good around here?” Harley asked.

Trickster and Piper shrugged.

Harley sighed and pulled out her phone. “All right, then, let’s –“

Suddenly, a painfully bright, blinding light flashed nearby. She swore and rubbed at her eyelids until the spots vanished. The swearing from the backseat told her it wasn’t just some new, bizarre hallucination, either (unless it was also an auditory one). She opened her eyes and found that there was somebody sitting shotgun, though her vision was still too blurry for her to see who, exactly, it was.

She grabbed her hammer and pointed it in what she really hoped was the right direction. “Okay, buddy,” she growled. “You’ve got until I can see straight again to get out of my car before your brains ruin my upholstery.”

Somebody snapped their fingers, and suddenly Harley could see clearly again. More specifically, she could clearly see that their unexpected guest was Athena. A clearly annoyed Athena. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you did not recognize me,” she said.

“Yeah, we don’t!” said Trickster, poised to throw what looked like small, colorful rings at Athena. Piper had his lips on his flute, glaring at Athena.

“It’s Athena, cut that shit out,” Harley hissed.

Trickster and Piper lowered their weapons, though they still looked _very_ suspicious.

Harley held the kris out to Athena and sweetly chirped, “We got the thingamajig!”

Athena took it from her and gave it a thorough once-over. Something flashed across her expression too quickly for Harley to decipher, but long enough to give her the heebie-jeebies. “Yes, this will do _very_ nicely,” she said, in a tone that was also generous with the heebie-jeebies.

“Oookay,” said Trickster. Harley could almost physically see the unease and suspicion stacking up like a game at a professional Jenga championship, poised to collapse into disaster at any moment. “What do we do now, your holiness or whatever-iness?”

Athena closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she was the picture of poise, calm, and snootiness once again. “The next step is mine to take,” she said. “I advise you all to close your eyes and cover your ears for a moment.”

Harley did as she said. Even with the precautions, red light spilled through her eyelids and her ears rang from… whatever the fuck that noise was. Before she could recover, it came again.

Eventually, she felt ready to open her eyes to a squint. It took another few seconds for the spots to recede enough for her to see the kris being held out to her again.

“It is done,” said Athena. Maybe it was just the ringing in her ears, but Harley could have sworn there was something off about her voice for the first word or two, like it hadn’t gotten quite all the way through the voice changer program yet. It was probably just the ringing and her imagination. But if it wasn’t…

“What, exactly, did you do?” Harley asked, taking the kris gingerly, ready to toss it back at the first sign of it starting to explode or something.

“A process beyond mortal understanding,” Athena brushed her off. “Given the right circumstances, that blade will now be able to separate the Entity from Phoenix. However, such circumstances are rare and difficult to create, so there is –“

Piper interrupted her. “What kind of circumstances?”

Athena turned to look at him and said, “Excuse me?” She wasn’t angry, just confused. But Harley knew that confusion. It was the confusion of somebody who’d never been told ‘no’ in their life, and once they understood what just happened, _then_ the anger would come. And it would not be pretty.

Piper ploughed on before she could stop him. “What kind of circumstances, exactly? And how, exactly, is a knife supposed to un-possess somebody? Do we have to wave it around and chant or what?”

“Yeah, it’s never a good sign when an employer doesn’t give details,” Trickster agreed. “Though, I guess you’re not really an employer if we’re not being paid.”

“Is ensuring that your world remains safe not payment enough?” Athena asked. Her expression was still perfectly calm, but something about it had Harley’s well-honed instincts screaming at her to fight, fly, or appease.

“Not in this economy,” said Trickster.

“And is the world really in danger?” Piper asked. “What, exactly, is Phoenix gonna do if we don’t stop him?”

“Which question, exactly, am I supposed to answer first?” Athena asked. Anger was starting to slip through the cracks.

Harley’s heartbeat was painful in her chest. She really, really, _really_ didn’t want to see this situation escalate any further. “Piper, just leave it,” she muttered. “We can –“

Piper ignored her. “Who or what is the entity possessing him?”

Athena considered it for a moment, which was rarely a good sign when someone was answering a simple question. “It has been called many things by many civilizations, but it does not have a true name. A translation of the one most commonly used nowadays would be ‘the Phoenix Force’. It is fire incarnate, and knows nothing of mortal concepts like kindness and compassion. It would have already burned this entire planet to ash had Phoenix not restrained himself. If it is not removed, then Phoenix may not have such discipline next time.”

Silence reigned in the car for a bit while the puny humans wrapped their heads around that. Trickster was the one to usurp it. “Okay, that sounds perfectly reasonable. So why didn’t you just tell us that before?”

“It was not relevant,” said Athena, the cracks in the mask spreading. “All you need to worry about is fulfilling your mission.”

“I’ve got another question,” said Trickster. “Who are you?”

Athena fixed him with a look that nearly made Harley throw open the door and run as far as possible right then and there. She probably would have not that long ago. It would’ve been the smart thing to do. But now she was trying to be a good person, and that meant being a fucking idiot and not abandoning people in need. No wonder nobody wanted to be a hero.

“As Harley has informed you, I am Athena,” she said coolly. “If you refuse to believe that, there is nothing I can do to convince you otherwise.”

“You could _try_ ,” said Trickster. “You could… I dunno… What are you supposed to be goddess of, exactly?”

“Battle strategy. Do you truly wish for a demonstration?”

“No, we don’t,” said Harley, shooting Trickster as angry a glare as she could considering she felt like she might just vibrate into another dimension from all the anxiety and apprehension clogging her system.

Piper had enough tact to realize a change in subject was needed, but not quite enough to realize it would be even better for them all to just shut up. “So, what are the circumstances needed?” he asked.

Athena’s cracks began to seal themselves again. “Circumstances where either the Phoenix Force does not wish to defend itself, or Phoenix is able to stop it from doing so. The former is extremely unlikely, and the latter would require truly extraordinary willpower that I doubt any mortal could possess.”

Piper pouted, clearly put out about not being able to argue that that wasn’t a rare set of circumstances.

“Okay, yeah, that does sound unlikely,” said Harley, slipping into appease mode like she was a silent film-era slapstick character stepping on a banana. “How do we make it work in better circumstances?”

Athena opened her mouth to speak.

Trickster beat her to it. “So, what about Alukitos?”

Both Athena’s calm and her anger were replaced by confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Alukitos,” Trickster repeated. “I’ve read the myth before, and what you did to him was really fucked up. Are we gonna turn out the same way?”

Athena wiped the confusion from her face and said, “No. Those circumstances were… regrettable, and will not happen again.”

Trickster grinned. “Really? Because Alukitos doesn’t exist. I literally just made it up. Wouldn’t the _real_ Athena have known that?”

Harley’s muscles went rigid. The only movement were the small tremors from her thundering heart sending blood and adrenaline coursing through her. Fight wasn’t going to work. Even if this wasn’t Athena, she was still way beyond what a hammer could handle. Appease definitely wasn’t going to work now that Trickster had dropkicked the cat out of the bag. That left flight. Flight sounded very, _very_ good.

She tried opening the car door. It wouldn’t budge. As surreptitiously as possible, she reached over to unlock it. She felt the button sink beneath her finger, and heard the _click_ of all the doors in the car unlocking, yet when she tried again, the door _still_ wouldn’t budge.

‘Athena’ turned to look at her. The expression on her face was still calm, but it was a _very_ different kind of calm that made Harley instantly grab her hammer and try to use it to break the window open so she could jump out. ‘Athena’ grabbed the nearest end of it before she could, and Harley didn’t have the strength to wrest it from her iron – no, iron was nowhere near as tough as that grip. This was a _titanium_ grip.

“Where do you think you’re going, dear?” The voice was technically the same one ‘Athena’ had been using all along, but the tone and inflections were clearly coming from a completely different person. Somebody with manic, foreboding cheer the likes of which Harley hadn’t heard since… since…

“Who are you?” It was all Harley could do to make the words come out as a whisper and not a whimper.

‘Athena’ let out a sigh – a loud, theatrical one, meant to communicate displeasure rather than release it. “Well, I suppose it’s only fair to tell you, now that you’ve figured me out. After all, nothing else I do will be fair.”

Light flashed again. Even once her vision was clear, Harley could barely bring herself to turn and see who was sitting next to her. A million horrible possibilities flashed through her mind as she turned her head as slowly as if she were drowning in quicksand.

None of those possibilities were a portly old lady in weird armor and a cape. Her relief at it not being a horrible Lovecraftian tentacle monster evaporated the second she saw the look in her eyes. She hadn’t seen such a combination of cheer and cruelty since the Joker.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said, in a voice that was no longer anything close to Athena’s. “I am Granny Goodness, servant of Lord Darkseid.”

Harley racked her malfunctioning brain for any memory of somebody called Granny Goodness. She didn’t find any, but she _did_ find some memories of some alien called Darkseid that even Superman had trouble fighting. No way anyone that worked for a guy like that was up to anything good.

Granny Goodness let out another loud, dramatic sigh. “It was genuinely nice to meet you, Harley. You would have made a fine Fury, had you made more trusting friends. You’re already very familiar with blind, utter obedience.”

That snapped Harley out of it. “What the fuck did you just say?” she snarled.

Granny Goodness giggled. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. There won’t be any need for Furies once my lord wields the power of the Phoenix Force.”

Even with the fear, panic, and adrenaline flooding it, Harley’s brain managed to put the pieces together. “So, this was all a ploy to get this Force thing out of Phoenix and into your boss?”

“Yes! Good job!” said Granny Goodness, clapping her hands like Harley was a kindergartener who’d successfully drawn a picture without eating her crayons for the first time. “And far from the only one, just in case you got any ideas about keeping the kris to stop us.”

Harley looked down at the Kris, laying innocently in her lap like it didn’t have the ability to give a galactic despot planet-destroying power.

“We’ll figure out another way to stop you,” said Piper. Brave, heroic, _stupid_ Piper.

Granny Goodness laughed again. “You really do think that, don’t you, sweetie? How _adorable_.” Her grin remained perfectly bright and cheerful as she continued. “I should probably kill you here and now, just to make sure you don’t get lucky. But where’s the fun in that? You’ve been oh so amusing so far. I think I’ll let you live to see the new universe take form. You would make fine court jesters, and Lord Darkseid goes through them rather quickly. Ta-ta, my dears!”

One last flash of light, and she was gone.

The three of them sat in frozen, terrified silence.

Once again, Trickster was the one to smash it with a high-pitched shriek of, “What the fuck was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid the next chapter will probably be late or significantly shorter than usual. I've got an important deadline coming up, so I won't have much time for writing (or editing previous chapters to get rid of indents). Thank you in advance for your patience.


	31. And It Shows, When We Stand

Dick felt that he deserved a very nice, very long vacation once all of this was over.

First of all, the multiverse was in peril. Again. That was never a good thing, especially when there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Second, he’d found out his little brother was 1) in the League of Assassins’ clutches for a significant amount of time, 2) possessed by some cosmic life bird, and 3) trying to solve the whole multiverse peril problem where nobody could help him while also getting chased by Darkseid. Third, his littlest brother was taking advantage of all this distraction to try and kill the other little brother, and he was getting _very_ creative about overcoming the obstacles Dick threw between them. Not to mention Bart’s death and Harley being worryingly weird.

Oh, who was Dick kidding. Things were never over. As soon as one crisis resolved itself, another one rose up to take its place. The only vacation he was getting was one spent in a hospital if he got himself hurt.

For the moment, at least, he could catch his breath. Bruce had finally come back from the Watchtower to grab some food and sleep (most likely the result of some helpful arm-twisting from Clark or Diana), and was currently taking over ‘Lecture Damian on not killing people’ duties.

Dick kicked the door closed behind him and lay down on his bed. It’d been a while since he’d been in his old room. It’d been even longer since he redecorated it. He really should take down that Hobbit poster. Jason was back, after all, and he’d probably burn the manor down if he found out there was a monument to such desecration of a classic in his home. Not right now, though. He was too tired. Just like every other time he thought of changing something about his room. But this time, he would _definitely_ do it soon.

He tried to just close his eyes and relax, but his brain didn’t want to play along. It decided to badger him with all the things he should be doing, along with all the horrible things that could happen if he didn’t do those things ASAP. No matter how many times he reminded himself that he needed to take care of his own mental health so that he didn’t have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a fight, it didn’t make it any better.

He gave up and pulled out his phone. Or, rather, Nightwing’s phone. The last thing he wanted was to forget to switch accounts and out his identity to the world, and Batman was more than happy to pay for the second phone plan. It still had some games on it, though, so it’d be fine for Dick’s purposes.

Before he swiped to unlock the phone, he noticed a Twitter notification. He’d long since put a program in place that blocked all the random, unimportant, often extremely uncomfortable tweets that got thrown in his direction, so that was automatically worth checking out. Especially when he recognized Harley’s username. And _especially_ especially when he saw there weren’t any weird emojis.

_I fucked up. Coming home. Need to talk._

No emojis. No xoxo. Just to the point and practical.

The multiverse really was ending.

He quickly opened up a DM and typed, _what did you do?_ He felt proud of the self-restraint he showed in not adding a _now_ or _this time_ to the sentence.

He was only able to imagine approximately fifty-eight worst case scenarios before he got a response.

_Harley’s driving this is Pied Piper (and before you ask no we didn’t kill the Flash it was Inertia) so you know how Harley knew about Phoenix being possessed?_

Dick dropped the phone onto his chest and rubbed at his eyes. He didn’t have the mental capacity to go through even half of the implications of that, so he was only going to focus on the bare minimum.

He picked the phone up again and typed, _yes._

Piper started typing almost immediately, but it took a whole two minutes of those three dots bouncing around like kangaroos on a trampoline before the message finally appeared. _Well someone she thought was the goddess Athena turned up and told her to help un-possess him and we got partway through the process before we found Athena was actually a creepy old lady that works for Darkseid and he just wanted the Phoenix Force for himself and we aren’t helping her anymore but she said they had other plans going so yeah._

This time, Dick couldn’t get away with ignoring most of the message. It was all important, and all really, _really_ horrible. He knew Darkseid was after the Phoenix Force, but he hadn’t realized just how much progress he was making.

 _meet me at the same place when u get back,_ he sent, then shoved the phone deep into his pockets and rose to his feet. He had to go and tell Bruce about this. As much as he was in favor of encouraging any breaks from work Batman took, he had to share this news with someone before he exploded.

* * *

Batman wasn’t happy about this situation. Nobody was. Well, except maybe Damian, but even then, Dick suspected he’d be grumpy about nobody paying attention to him. That was a normal thing for kids his age, right? Dick certainly remembered loving being in the limelight. Or was it a ‘I have never received healthy love in my life’ thing? Once this was over, Dick would have to double down on convincing him to get some therapy.

Obviously, Batman wanted to immediately go back to the Watchtower. But Dick could tell that he was already completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally, so he used some old embarrassing stories to blackmail him into staying behind while Nightwing took his place.

The Watchtower, as expected, was abuzz with frantic energy. Dick was stopped nine different times on the way to the main communications room by various friends and acquaintances wanting to update him on the latest news or be updated by him, because he was a Bat and that meant he already knew everything. In this case, yes, he did know just about everything about the situation, but if they’d just let him get to where he wanted to go, he could update the official report and then everyone could read it and save everyone lots of time. But he understood how hard it was to think clearly when everything was going to hell in a handbasket, so he tried not to be rude to anyone.

He got to one of the main computers, updated it with all the information he had, and then… and then everything became a blur of reassurances, threat assessments, and gallows humor. Lots and lots of gallows humor. Dick had been making jokes at the wrong time for years, and he wasn’t going to stop now.

He ended up entering such a daze that it took him a solid ten seconds to register that something unusual had just happened when he spotted Donna talking with Diana.

When it finally clicked, he froze and said, “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be with Phoenix?”

Donna rolled her eyes, even as she smiled at the sight of him. “You could just say hello, you know.”

“Okay. Hello, Troia, aren’t you supposed to be with Phoenix?”

Donna’s levity faded as she said, “He sent us back to get reinforcements. Monarch’s been going around the multiverse gathering an army, and apparently the energy signatures suggest he might be the threat we’re after.”

Dick hissed out a swear. Monarch was enough of a problem on his own. With an entire army at his back? Yeah, that could definitely be a threat to everything in known existence. “Where’s Phoenix, then?” he asked.

“He stayed behind,” said Donna.

“Why?” Dick asked. He wasn’t sure why, but something about this made his stomach sink.

Donna frowned. “I’m… not sure. I assumed he wanted to talk with Bob and Batman about Phoenix Force stuff.”

“Who’s Bob?” Diana asked.

“The Monitor. I mean, the Monitor for this universe.”

“Bob the Monitor,” Dick muttered to himself. Nice to see Jason was still Jason, Phoenix Force or not.

“And I assume you mean the Batman of another universe?” Diana clarified.

“Yeah. He’s…” Donna shifted uncomfortably. “The Jason of that universe didn’t come back, so he’s a bit…”

Dick winced. He knew first-hand just how badly Bruce dealt with Jason’s death. Whatever this other Batman felt about seeing his son seemingly back from the dead, he could guarantee it wasn’t ‘a bit’. With Batman and emotions, it was all or nothing. No wonder Jason stayed behind. Batman might have one of his signature Batmeltdowns the moment he got out of his sight.

“I see,” said Diana. She looked at Dick. “I assume you’ll want to be one of the reinforcements?”

Dick’s first instinct was to nod. Of course he was coming. Jason was his little brother, Donna was one of his best friends, and Kyle… Kyle was nice. But Jason wasn’t his only brother, and he wasn’t the one that needed the most attention right now.

“I might need to stay here,” he said. “Hold down the Batfort.”

Diana and Donna both rolled their eyes and refused to humor him.

Dick’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw another message from Harley (or Piper, or whoever was writing now). _Almost there. plz get there first so we can be fashionably late._

Oh, shit, right. “Hey, Donna, are you and Kyle busy right now?” he asked.

Donna was too nice to outright say, _The multiverse is in danger, of course we’re busy!_ So she gave him an incredulous look that got the message across loud and clear.

“Harley Quinn and Pied Piper might have some more information on Darkseid,” he explained.

Donna’s expression morphed into one of rage. “Piper? You’re going to talk to him after what he did to Bart?!”

“Codenames,” Dick said automatically.

“What do codenames matter when he’s –“

“Troia.” It wasn’t a snap, but Diana’s voice was still firm enough to have them both immediately shut up and give her their attention. “I think we can all agree that Darkseid and Monarch are the greater threat here. And even if they weren’t, do you really think that the Rogues would paint a target on their backs like this for no reason?”

“Piper said it was Inertia,” said Dick.

Donna mulled it over for a moment. “I suppose we can at least talk to him,” she decided. “I’ll grab Green Lantern and meet up with you at the teleporters.”

She hurried off. Before Dick could leave, too, Diana pinned him in place with her stare.

“I read the report. Be careful,” she warned. “Piper was last seen with Trickster, and you shouldn’t underestimate any of them. Even Granny Goodness saw potential in them.”

Dick nodded. “I won’t. Thanks.”

Donna and Kyle were waiting at the teleporters. From there, it was simple to get down to Gotham and fly over to the meeting place. Simple once Donna and Kyle played rock, paper, scissors to see who had to carry Dick, anyway.

Dick noticed a used sedan parked nearby, but didn’t pay it much more mind. At least, he didn’t until that very car came driving up once the three of them were settled on the ground in appropriately intimidating poses. They really weren’t kidding about wanting to be fashionably late.

It was hard to recognize Harley with a reasonable amount of makeup, but the pep in her step and bright, somewhat manic smile were very distinct. He didn’t know Piper and Trickster as well, but they at least looked like they had the same body types and coloring from the photos. Though Dick didn’t remember any photos of Piper with a Frozen band-aid on his neck, nor any of Trickster in a shirt that clearly hadn’t been made to fit him. Also, he wouldn’t have taken Harley for a Nickelback fan. Clearly, there was a story here, a story Dick would be buzzing with excitement to hear on any other day. But this wasn’t one of those days.

“So why, exactly, should we not just arrest you on the spot?” Dick asked, pleased by how he was able to make his voice both light _and_ annoyed.

Harley pouted. “Ain’t you supposed to be the nice one? If I wanted a grump, I woulda called Batman.”

“He isn’t holding a knife to my throat, that’s nice enough for me,” said Piper, rubbing at the band-aid.

“Okay, that’s enough banter,” said Donna, stepping forward and putting her hands on her hips in a gesture that cowed supervillains and young superheroes alike. “What do you know about Darkseid?”

“We know that he’s got a creepy old lady working for him, so he can’t be good,” said Trickster. “And I don’t know much about possession etiquette, but trying to steal a… possessing-thingy seems like a dick move, too.”

“We already know he’s after the Phoenix Force,” said Kyle. “We noticed when he tried to kill us.”

Harley’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh, right, you guys were with Phoenix! Do you know where he is now?”

“Alternate universe,” said Donna.

Harley, Piper, and Trickster all gave each other the tired looks of people who’ve already seen so much weird shit today, why stop now? “Of course,” said Harley. “You got a trans-universal phone plan? ‘Cuz I think he’d wanna know Darkseid’s getting pretty proactive on the whole Phoenix-stealing thing.”

“Define proactive,” Dick growled.

“We already completed the first step of creating something that could do the job, and he’s got other plans going, too,” said Piper.

Harley pulled a knife – no, a kris – from her pocket. “Yeah, apparently this thing could separate them if they don’t fight back.”

“How, by stabbing him?” Kyle asked.

“I –“ Harley paused to rethink. “Yeah, probably. Would explain why she never went into the details.”

Dick knew he should probably take it from her right there and then, but just looking at a weapon designed to kill Jason (permanently, this time) made him feel sick.

“It’s a knife,” said Kyle. “How did you _think_ it would work?”

“Well, we didn’t know it was gonna be a knife!” said Trickster. “Athe – Granny Goodness just said it had to be something of sentimental value.”

Dick gave the knife a closer look. Why would Jason care so much about it? He doubted he’d had it before his death. Just another thing to ask him about once they saw each other again, Dick supposed.

“And it’s pure coincidence that it ended up being a weapon?” Donna asked.

“I don’t know!” said Harley. “I don’t know what’s coincidence, what’s destiny, and what’s gods fucking with us anymore!”

“Probably not coincidence,” said Kyle. “Otherwise you could’ve used something non-deadly, like... a DVD of Sweeney Todd or something.”

“Why would he be emotionally attached to a copy of Sweeney Todd?” Trickster asked.

“I dunno, he got really mad at me for thinking it was by the same guy that did Cats,” said Kyle.

Piper’s eyes narrowed. “Movie or stage version?”

“Stage,” said Donna.

Dick was nowhere near enough into musicals to understand the look of sheer rage on Piper’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Dick stepped between them before it could escalate any further. “Okay, okay, you and Phoenix can lecture Green Lantern later. Once we’re sure Darkseid isn’t going to…” _Kill him._ The words seemed to stab into his throat and rip it open as he tried to drag them out.

“Right,” said Donna. “If you three are really serious about helping us, you can come help us fight off Monarch.”

“Who’s Monarch?” Harley asked.

“Possibly brainwashed guy with nuclear powers,” said Kyle.

Trickster took a step back, eyes darting around for an escape route. “That is _not_ what I signed up for. I just wanted to get away from Deathstroke. Plus, I’m not actually that good in a fight, I wouldn’t be much help, so I’ll just –“

Harley grabbed him by the arm. “Oh no, you don’t! We’re all in this together!”

Dick’s stressed out, overworked, sleep-deprived mind immediately started thinking about High School Musical. He rubbed at his forehead, as if it would help dislodge the song now stuck in his head. He'd very much like to just grapple away from the situation and take a nap, but he was supposed to be the responsible one. People needed his help, and he'd have to wait until things were settled again before he tried looking into a support group for tired eldest children.

He'd do it on his vacation. The nice, long, well-deserved vacation that he was going to take no matter what new disasters the multiverse tried throwing at him.


	32. For Earth Too Dear

Jason felt Bob’s return more than he heard it. He didn’t bother turning away from his computer screen to ask, “Do you think they’ll stay there long enough?”

“Yes,” said Bob. “Even if they were aware of the true timeframe, it’s doubtful they would be able to muster their forces in time.”

Jason put the computer to sleep and rubbed at his eyes. “We should probably come up with some excuse just in case they get lucky.”

“I’ve fulfilled my part of the agreement,” said Bob. “Now you must fulfill yours. Focus on the mission.”

Jason pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up. “Right.”

By the time he turned around, Bob had vanished again.

Jason rolled his eyes and cautiously got to his feet. He’d done another round of getting a Google medical degree, and done his best to fix his leg. It still stung when he put weight on it, but he could walk again, and he’d done a lot more with way worse injuries.

He went over to the window. This was only the guest study, so the view wasn’t as spectacular as the one from Bruce’s, but it was still nice, and he could see a great spot on the lawn to try and meditate. He couldn’t think of a better method to try and communicate with the Phoenix Force, besides just screaming at it until it came out. His voice would probably give out before the Phoenix’s patience did, so meditation it was.

He made sure not to use telekinesis as he climbed out the window and down to the ground. Not consciously, anyway. Losing the Phoenix Force was a very real possibility, and he needed to be prepared for it. He’d always tried not to rely too much on his powers, so he wasn’t totally out of shape, but he still found himself automatically trying to take risks on the climb with the assumption that he had a telekinetic safety net. It was a habit he didn’t have time to fully break in the hour or so left before Monarch arrived.

Jason tried to release all the anger and helplessness from that thought in a breath as he hit the ground. It quickly turned into a hiss of pain as he put weight on his bad leg, but the physical pain was better than the emotional stuff. He took a few deep, steadying breaths as he stood back up. Even the air in this Gotham seemed cleaner, fresher, and just better in every conceivable way. Jason wasn’t going to let it get destroyed.

He reached the spot, patted down the grass to make sure there weren’t any messy surprises waiting, and sat down. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply until the last of the adrenaline from his little urban rock-climbing faded away. He’d need to be as calm as possible if he was going to get anything useful out of this conversation.

Once that was done, he murmured to himself, “Okay. I know you can hear my thoughts. You know I need to talk to you. I’m not going to pretend I have any idea what your idea of reason is, but I think I’ve got some pretty good reasons for this.” The foremost being that this was the Phoenix Force’s multiverse, too, and there wouldn’t be much use for a personification of life if there wasn’t any life left. “We might be separated in a few hours, so it’s now or never.”

He barely even registered the pain of the White Hot Room anymore. Once the heat and noise washed over him, he opened his eyes and found himself in a sky full of stars, facing a giant, flaming Phoenix.

“Do you want a conversation, or for me to read your mind and answer your questions?” it asked.

Jason shrugged. “You’re already in my mind. Might as well save time.”

He didn’t feel the Phoenix’s presence inside his mind. Maybe it was just that good at telepathy. Or maybe it was because it had been there as long as he’d had telepathy. Like how you eventually completely forgot a desk ornament was there until somebody pointed it out to you, because it became just another part of the desk in the mind’s eye.

Still, he knew it had to be there, especially since the first words out of its mouth (or beak) were, “Very well. I don’t know if I love you, much less what sort of love it is. All I know is that I want you to be happy and safe and to continue being my host.”

That… wasn’t what he’d been expecting. That wasn’t what he’d been focusing on. Sure, the thought had definitely crossed his mind, because the Phoenix’s behavior reminded him way too much of a middle schooler dealing very badly with their first crush, and the thing possessing him wanting his body in _other_ ways would be a whole new level of weird, uncomfortable, and fucked up. And apparently that _was_ a possibility, once it figured its feelings out a bit more.

That’s what he got for giving a blank check to somebody that didn’t know how banks work, so to speak.

“Never mind,” he said. “I want an actual conversation. How did we first meet?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” said the Phoenix Force.

“Oh, and confessing your love was?”

“I did not –“ It cut itself off, and Jason got the distinct impression that it was giving him the firebird version of a pout. “Just because I can read your mind does not mean I understand it.”

“Can you understand this?” Jason made sure to over-enunciate enough to make a Shakespearean director proud as he asked, “How did we first meet?”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because you don’t want to tell me, and spite’s the only reason I made it this far. Plus, if I know how you possessed me, it could give a hint to how Monarch might try and make you possess him.”

The Phoenix was quiet for what might have been a moment or an eternity. Hard to tell in space, and a kinda-sorta dream. Eventually, it said, “It would be easier to show you.”

For a moment, Jason tried to hide his surprise at it actually working. Then he realized that that was pretty useless around something that could read his thoughts, and let his emotions show freely.

“However, a living, mortal mind cannot truly comprehend memories of the afterlife. I can give you the… shape of it, shall we say, and your mind will translate it into something you understand.”

Jason wanted to ask what the fuck it meant by any of that, but he realized that any questions he had would either be answered by whatever it was about to show him, or not at all.

“Okay. Show me.”

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was back in the field. He was also a lot smaller, and wearing his old Robin uniform. He was also running, despite not telling his legs to do so. He quickly realized he was an observer, not a participant, in this vision. He could feel the emotions his past (or completely fake) self was – joy, peace, excitement – but more like he was sensing them from another mind rather than truly experiencing them himself.

He was running toward a cliff, because it had a great view and it was _his_ place. He screeched to a halt when he realized something was already there – a big, weird, fiery something. For a moment, this elicited the appropriate amount of fear.

Then he remembered that he was already dead, so he stomped over and declared, “That’s my spot. Move.”

The fire-bird-thing turned its head to look at him. “What do you mean by that?” it asked, in his own voice.

Jason couldn’t quite understand the shape of the reason behind it, but he could tell that his past/fake self wasn’t fazed. “I mean, it’s not like I _own_ it, but I sit there, like, every day – or… whatever kind of time-keeping they’ve got here. So, I’ve got seniority, and you need to get up.”

Past Jason couldn’t tell, but Present Jason could sense the sheer confusion radiating from the Phoenix Force. “That makes no sense,” it said.

Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s the dibs system. What, do weird firebirds not have elementary schools?”

“No. We do not.”

Past Jason thought it was being weird. Present Jason knew that he’d just walked up to a being already considering learning more about this stuff and yelling, ‘Hey, look at all this weird nonsensical mortal shit I know!’

Jason stomped closer and plopped to the ground next to it, completely unaffected by what _should_ be an unbearable heat. But this was either the afterlife or a complete fabrication, so it wasn’t really a surprise. “Fine,” he said. “I guess we’re sharing, then.”

“You have no idea what I am,” said the Phoenix.

Jason shrugged. “If you’re here, you must be dead, too, so you can’t be _that_ impressive.”

The Phoenix Force didn’t understand human interaction enough to realize it should be insulted. “I am merely visiting,” it said. “Death visits my realm often enough, and it is important to maintain balance.”

“Huh,” said Jason, and once again there was an emotion that living Jason couldn’t understand. “Well, next time you drop by, drop by somewhere other than my spot.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then the Phoenix said, “You are strange.”

Jason shrugged. “Yeah, I know. You seem pretty weird, too, buddy.”

“Buddy?” the Phoenix repeated. “Are we now friends?”

Even if there wasn’t much need for self-preservation instincts in the afterlife, Past Jason still decided to take the diplomatic approach. “Uh, sure?”

“I am given to understand that friends are willing to do each other favors.”

Even Past Jason had a bad feeling about this. “Within reason.”

“Would you like to be alive again?”

Past Jason had to think that over for a while. He was happy in the afterlife. Happier than he could ever remember being in life. And yet… “I’d like to see Bruce again. And Alfie. And Dick and Babs and… There’s a lot of people that probably miss me. And I’m eventually coming back here anyway, right? So… It depends on the price.”

Present Jason zoned out a bit as the Phoenix Force outlined the whole possession thing. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, and it was said in the factual, boring, textbook way of something that thought this was the superior method of conveying information to mortals that were designed for stories, not dry facts.

He paid attention again when Past Jason said, with the grim certainty of someone who knew and accepted the possible fallout of this decision, “All right. I accept.”

Except he didn’t know. He had no idea what the actual possible fallout would be. He didn’t know that this decision might destroy the entire multiverse. He’d just thought that he could help someone feel less alone, and save his loved ones a lot of heartache.

Even at the time, his brain suspected things would go wrong. But, like he always did when it was the worst possible option, he listened to his stupid bleeding heart.

He blinked and he was back in his adult fake dream body in space. “That’s it?” he asked.

“I did not think you would want to relive the resurrection process,” said the Phoenix.

Jason automatically opened his mouth to argue, then realized that there really wasn’t anything to argue against. It was probably for the best that he didn’t remember waking up in a coffin with a brain-melting white-hot headache.

“Okay,” he said instead. “But that was… a decent first meeting, considering you’re… you, and I’m me. Why were you so insistent on hiding it?”

“You aren’t angry?” the Phoenix asked.

“No. Why would I be?”

“You are very unpredictable.”

Jason… had to concede that it had a point there. Didn’t he have the right to be unpredictable, though? He was still a teenager, technically, and he’d like to see somebody go through all the shit he had and not have anger issues. That wasn’t the point, though. The point was that the Phoenix Force never knew how he was going to react. He remembered feeling that way with Bruce and Alfred at the beginning, before he figured them out, and on Mom’s bad or high days, and with Willis pretty much all the time. Never knowing what was going to set them off, worried that the rules had changed when he wasn’t looking, just wanting to blend into the furniture in case something he thought was innocuous turned out to be bad…

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is all just… really new and weird. For both of us.”

“There are other things you wish to ask me.”

Jason let out a sigh of relief. Talking about the impending apocalypse would be _way_ easier. “Yeah. So, is there any way you can describe the actual possession process in a way I can understand?”

“No. I can, however, say that it is not a process anyone would be able to replicate without my willing participation.”

Okay. That was two questions answered in one. Clearly, this good fortune wouldn’t last, so Jason needed to do this fast before things went too far downhill. “If things go wrong, is there any way we could stop you?”

“No.”

Jason waited a moment for a ‘but’. He didn’t get one, so he asked, “Is there anything _anyone_ can do to stop you?”

“Yes. But attempting to contact them would be pointless. Anyone powerful enough will already be aware of what is happening, and if they choose to intervene, it will be of their own accord. Nothing we do will change their minds.”

Well, that wasn’t promising. If those beings were anything like the Phoenix Force, they’d just stand by and watch the multiverse implode because stopping it wasn’t their job. Even if they weren’t, though…

“What happens if you get killed?” he asked.

“Our universe dies with me.”

That was horrible. Jason should be horrified by the thought. Instead, his brain just focused on the numbers. “Just ours?”

“In theory. In practice, our travels have created connections with the Sources of other universes, and they could be negatively affected as well.”

Great. That was… just fucking _fantastic._ “Guess you were right,” he said, voice flat and far-away. “I just made it worse.” He always made it worse. He never thought things through, he just got mad and tried to prove that _this_ time he wouldn’t mess up, fuck whoever said he would. Before, he always figured the worst that could happen would be him dying. Now? Now entire universes were at risk because he… he…

“There is no point in dwelling on it,” said the Phoenix. “Things are not yet dire enough to merit the risks of time travel. Instead of focusing on things you cannot change, focus on what you can do now.”

Right. That… That was the thing to do. When the future was overwhelming, don’t stare at the past wondering where it went wrong. Just take one step, then another. In this case, the first step was uncurling himself from a fetal position he didn’t remember getting into. Kinda hard to notice that kind of thing when you were letting guilt and regret consume you.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s focus. Got any advice on what we’re supposed to do now?”

“Judging by your own past actions, it seems that you _should_ face Monarch head-on and try to defeat him.”

“I meant what would be most helpful, not what would be most in-character for me.” He wasn’t going to try and claim that the two would be the same thing. No need to defend his pride to someone that had already seen him at his worst.

“I do not know,” said the Phoenix Force. “Even to me, the future is unpredictable. Making assumptions about it and taking drastic actions to prevent disaster might only hasten its coming.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve read Percy Jackson,” said Jason. “So, you have _no_ suggestions?”

“If trying to interpret the future is pointless, then we should focus on the present. And in the present, Monarch is a threat that you want to deal with.”

“You do realize that that sort of thinking is what got us into this mess, right?”

“I could return you home and leave it to others, if that’s what you want.”

Usually, when someone said something like that, it was a threat meant to inspire the person to say ‘No, I won’t do that, because I am Not A Wimp, I am A Hero who will do the Right Thing!’ But that kind of reverse psychology was a bit beyond the Phoenix Force. It meant it as a genuine offer, and he knew it wouldn’t judge him for taking it. It wouldn’t judge him for refusing it, either. Kind of hard to judge the metric by which you judge other mortals. Even if it was an awful metric.

“I’m staying,” he said. “Though I’m definitely open to some time travel to undo all this should the need arise.”

He didn’t blink (he _knew_ he didn’t blink), but suddenly the light was coming from the sun, not the Phoenix Force, the sky was blue, and he was sitting on grass instead of floating in a vacuum. Oh, and he had a headache again, but that was pretty normal.

He got up and walked back to the manor. He was halfway there before he realized that his leg _really_ should be bothering him. He stopped and put all his weight on the no-longer-bad leg just to be sure. No pain. Huh. The only explanation he could come up with was that the Phoenix Force wanted him to be as capable as possible before he had to face Monarch. For once, Jason was thankful to it for messing around with his body without asking. Mostly. Once this was all over, they really needed to have a chat on how one should at least give another a heads-up before messing around with their organs and bones.

Once this was over. And it was _far_ from over.

He walked through the front door, and he finally noticed the niggling feeling that something was missing. Where was Alfred? He understood Dick not wanting to move back in with the vengeful shell of the man he’d known, and said vengeful shell not wanting to take in any more kids, but shouldn’t Alfred still be there?

He reached out telepathically and pulled back the instant he found Bruce. He didn’t like reading his mind. He didn’t like reading his Bruce’s mind either, but this one was… different. He’d only brushed against it, but he could still sense enough emptiness and misery to make his stomach twist and tears prick at his eyes. He tried to push it all aside as he made his way through the eerily empty manor.

Bruce was in the Batcave. Obviously. “Any updates?” he grunted, not looking away from the Batcomputer.

“Nothing relevant,” said Jason, firmly enough that even Batman would realize trying to needle more information out of him would be pointless. “By the way, where’s Alfred?”

Batman got that Robot Mode 2.0 expression again as he turned to look at him. No, scratch that. That expression wasn’t robotic. It was just… dead. Lifeless. His voice matched as he said, “London. He didn’t agree with the direction I took my life in and left.”

Alfred left Bruce. The idea would be inconceivable if Jason weren’t face to face with a version of Bruce that was just as inconceivable. Why _would_ Alfred stick with somebody that refused to listen to him, or anyone else telling him to maybe not kill literally every villain on the planet? Batman wasn’t going to let himself be pulled back out of the pit he’d thrown himself down, so anyone that persisted would just get dragged down with him.

Batman turned back to the Batcomputer and said, “Anything else?”

Jason didn’t have anything else to say that wouldn’t damage their relationship. They couldn’t risk hurt feelings getting in the way of the upcoming fight, though, so he remained silent.

Batman turned off the computer and got to his feet. “Let’s finish our preparations, then. We don’t have much time.”


	33. Scorched Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just wanted to let you guys know I've got a tumblr now (freshavocanoob.tumblr.com), so if you want to talk to me outside of comments, feel free.

Bob showed up again just in time to do some trans-universal wibbly-wobbly space-time stuff to ensure that Monarch and his army would arrive in Gotham. Once the rest of the superhero community retired and started letting their skills get rusty, Batman had turned the entire city into one big trap in case something like this happened. He’d contacted the authorities as soon as he could to tell them to evacuate, but Gotham was big, stubborn, and had grown used to not having to deal with horrible disasters. They weren’t going to get everyone out in time. And no matter how hard he tried, Jason knew he wouldn’t be able to save them all. His mushy mortal brain wouldn’t be able to handle dealing with Monarch, ‘aggressive’ Superman, _and_ holding off an entire army all at once.

He couldn’t let himself focus on that, though. He couldn’t let doubt creep in and make itself at home. He had to believe in his powers for them to work properly. He had to believe that he could at least save _some_ of them, and that would be better than if he did nothing at all.

Then again, he’d thought doing something instead of nothing would be more beneficial when he decided to get involved in this whole mess, and look where that got him…

He shook himself. Enough of that. It was time for positive thoughts, however alien that concept might be.

He scanned the city for any signs of invasion. He was sitting on the roof of Wayne Tower, so if anyone could see it, it would be him. The streets were absolutely packed with people refusing public transport in favor of packing as much sentimental, useless shit in their cars as they could before their house was possibly destroyed in the process of a cool super move. If there were people screaming and running away from weird portals with weird people coming through them, Jason would never be able to hear them over the blaring car horns.

So, he didn’t feel like he was impeding the mission at all when he activated his comm and asked, “Any updates on the ETA?”

“No word from the Monitor,” said Batman.

Jason kept his eyes peeled for smoke or sudden crowd movements as he let out an affronted gasp. “He has a name, you know.”

“A name you gave him just to be silly and unprofessional,” Batman growled.

“Hey, Bob’s a popular name. Bob the Builder is a national hero.”

“No updates on ETA. Batman out.”

Jason wasn’t sure if his unwillingness to play along was another difference between him and Jason’s Bruce. He’d never been on comms with him since he came back. Even back when he was Robin, Batman was as likely to shut down his attempts to lighten things up as he was to humor them. And seeing first-hand just how horribly things could turn out for his sidekicks probably made him even less likely to put up with distractions.

Jason’s nerves were taut as piano strings as he sat there waiting. It felt like he might vibrate into another plane of existence from all the energy coursing through him. He bounced his feet against the side of the building to ground himself. _Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk._ If he focused on it enough, he could pretend the slow, steady rhythm was his heartbeat, rather than the frantic, pattering thing threatening to burst out of his chest. He couldn’t be frantic right now. The literal multiverse was counting on him.

As always, the heavier the burden, the more vital it was not to drop it, and the more difficult that task was. It was all very counterintuitive and excellent proof against intelligent design.

Finally, the comm crackled to life, and Bob said, “ETA one minute.”

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ Fuckfuckfuckfuck – Why the shitting fuck did Bob think _one fucking minute_ was enough time?! Jason closed his eyes and opened up his mind to locate the largest clusters of civilians and erect some shields for them. He also found a few fucking idiots still hanging around, refusing to leave for a variety of idiotic reasons. He gave them a blast of panic and sense of imminent doom to make them get off their asses and _run_.

He felt the arrival before he heard it. Kind of hard to not notice a whole bunch of violent psychopaths popping into existence. He quickly closed his mind again before their thoughts made him throw up, cry, or fly into a tactically inadvisable rage. Also, he was pretty sure he sensed at least one telepath among them, so he should keep himself guarded until the fight was over or he had to go on the psychic offensive against them.

He jumped to his feet, took a deep breath, and took flight.

It was hard to tell where the allies they’d managed to recruit were. From up here, friend and foe alike were just little blobs of movement. He couldn’t tell who was actually fighting, and even if he could there were probably multiple versions of all the heroes present. So, he didn’t know which groups were ‘taken’, so to speak. He did, however, have a rough idea of which ones were closest to the areas with the worst ‘number of civilians/strength of shield’ ratios. So, he went to the top of the list.

Aaand that was _definitely_ a swastika on definitely-not-Superman’s (no, even that was too close to Clark, Jason was calling him Übermensch) chest. He’d even dyed his hair blond to look like the perfect ‘Aryan’ specimen. There were a lot of swastikas and various other Nazi imagery decorating his companions, too. Jason didn’t know what kind of universe they came from for _that_ to happen, and he didn’t want to know. All he needed to know was that they needed to get their asses beat.

First order of business: take out the ones that might just be able to move faster than thought. First on that list was the orange-brown blur zipping around that could be Nazi Flash. Jason didn’t dare waste any time before putting up a telekinetic barrier right in front of his face. Jason smirked at the _thunk_ and yelp of pain that came from it. Sadly, he couldn’t gloat yet, so he felt his lips curl down into a focused frown as he telekinetically broke his limbs to make sure he didn’t get any more ideas.

Next on the list was Übermensch, who’d noticed the dude on fire floating around above them. He probably didn’t know everyone in Monarch’s army, so he _might_ think that Jason was just a member from another universe, especially since telekinesis didn’t leave much physical evidence behind. Jason didn’t feel like betting his life (or, more likely, the lives of everyone they’d kill before the Phoenix Force brought him back again) on a _might_ , though, so he put up a shield.

He made the right call. Übermensch slammed into the shield, and when that failed, he got a confused look much like not-Superman had when he’d failed in the exact same way. Jason was getting worryingly good at combating Superman. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to deal with Übermensch the way he had not-Superman. He had no idea how many enemy telepaths were around and how quickly they would notice his presence and attack.

Jason had to come up with an alternative quickly before Übermensch realized attacking him was pointless and went after less protected people. What were a Kryptonian’s weaknesses? There was Kryptonite, obviously, and Batman probably had some lying around, but Jason didn’t have time to find it. Red sun radiation worked, too. That was less likely to be just lying around. In theory, he _might_ be able to create some himself. The Phoenix Force was the one that birthed the stars, after all, and what was a star if not a giant ball of fire? In theory, he could do it. In theory, summoning the raw nuclear power of a star without knowing what he was doing could wipe out the entire planet. So… no, that wasn’t an option, either.

Übermensch came back for another round, and Jason decided fuck it, might as well give the obvious a try. If he could move things around at the atomic level, it wouldn’t be that hard to tell the atoms in Kryptonian bones to go their separate ways. Right? Right.

He closed his eyes, and willed all of Übermensch’s bones to break.

_CRACK._

Even without opening his eyes, Jason knew it had worked. That, or Übermensch had suddenly developed a fear of heights and _that_ was why he was screaming his head off. He opened his eyes and found Übermensch still floating in front of him, but hunched over and limp like a marionette without its strings.

 _Is it really that easy?_ Jason wondered.

Übermensch stopped screaming and looked up at him with a snarl and glowing red eyes.

Oh, right. Superman and the various evil versions of him had laser eyes. Even with broken bones, this guy was still a threat. Not to Jason – the lasers were easily absorbed by the shield – but definitely to others when Jason inevitably had to turn his attention to other threats. He was going to have to do something more permanent.

Telepathy was still off the menu, so knocking him out using it was as well. It also meant he couldn’t take a look in his head to see if killing him was justifiable. Maybe he was misguided, or being threatened, or…

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Nazi Green Lantern and Wonder Woman trying to get through his shields to the street, and all the civilians whose only defense was screaming and running away.

He turned his attention back to Übermensch. As much as Jason’s stomach roiled at the thought of killing somebody who still had some hope for redemption, it wasn’t worth risking the lives of people who _weren’t_ Nazis. It was simple math.

Jason closed his eyes and, ignoring the nausea that came with it, imagined Übermensch’s skull imploding.

The sound that followed was a serious challenge to the sound of Captain Nazi’s cybernetic eyes getting shoved into his brain for second place on the List of the Worst Sounds Jason Todd Has Ever Heard. He turned around before he opened his eyes. From this high up, the faint _thump_ of a body hitting the ground must have just been his imagination.

The obvious next targets were Nazi Green Lantern and Wonder Woman. He focused on Lantern first, because thinking of Wonder Woman as a Nazi felt even more wrong than Superman being one. He’d also defeated an evil Lantern before, and it had also involved telepathy, so that plan was out the window. Coming up with a new non-lethal strategy was also going to be even more difficult than with Übermensch, because as long as he was conscious, he’d be able to use the ring, and Jason didn’t trust himself to be able to telekinetically knock him out without accidentally killing him. So, he’d have to go after the ring.

Yanking it off wasn’t a very feasible option. Not without telepathy and a friend ready to strike at the right moment. So, what if he just crushed it? He was pretty sure it was possible to destroy a ring. It might not be easy, but Jason _did_ have access to the raw firepower of the Big Bang. He just had to wait until Nazi Green Lantern had his guard down and…

There! Lantern had his back turned, focused entirely on blasting through the shield and getting to the disgustingly non-Aryan civilians. Jason couldn’t quite tell which hand had the ring on it from this distance. Guess he’d have to target both hands to make sure he got it. What a shame. He didn’t know how he’d live with himself, breaking a Nazi’s hands. Though given how much force he was going to put in to make sure the ring got destroyed, he should really say _vaporizing_ a Nazi’s hands. Truly, it was a terrible cross to bear.

He was too far away to hear whatever horrible sound his hands made, but he _could_ hear the scream that followed, and he could see all the green light fizzle out of existence. Good.

The only other Nazi knockoffs he could see were Hawkman, Hawkgirl, and Wo – No, he wasn’t going to besmirch Diana’s name like that. He was calling her… Shieldmaiden? That was Germanic, right? Shieldmaiden it was.

In the time it took him to come up with that nickname, all three of them converged on him. Unless he was remembering their abilities wrong, or they had new powers to go along with their new fucked up ideology, dealing with them should be much more straightforward. Tough as they were, there wasn’t really much they could do with four broken limbs. Jason should probably be worried by how that was becoming his go-to method of dealing with people, but the time for worrying was later, when the entire multiverse wasn’t in imminent danger.

They didn’t have any new powers – or, at least, none that could be utilized without movement.

Jason found other fights, and the battle raged on. He actually came across the original not-Superman again, along with a _very_ pissed off very-much-not-Wonder Woman who, for some weirdass reason, looked more like Lois than Diana. He’d worry about how good he was getting at defeating members of the Justice League later, when he had room to worry about anything beyond the next blow.

Right as he took down Nazi Batman (who’d apparently made a tactical retreat when he saw his friends go down, and was wiring a nasty bomb when Jason found him), not-Nazi-but-still-murdery Batman’s voice crackled over the comm, “Monarch’s been spotted near the Iceberg Lounge, fighting a Superman. Our allies are already engaged elsewhere. Be careful.”

Jason couldn’t let himself realize the enormity of what was about to happen. He couldn’t let himself think of how this confrontation could determine the fate of the entire multiverse. All he could do was fly over to the Iceberg Lounge.

Jason quickly realized how Batman had spotted them. It was kinda hard to miss the brightly-colored flying dudes throwing punches, laser-beams, and energy blasts at each other. As he flew toward them, their positions shifted a dozen times, until ‘aggressive’ Superman had his back to him and Monarch spotted the Jason.

Maybe Monarch froze because he really was after the Phoenix Force, and was surprised to see it throwing itself at him. Or maybe he just froze because a fiery bird-thing was coming at them. Nobody else would ever know the reason. All anybody would know was that Monarch froze, and ‘aggressive’ Superman took the opportunity.

Jason didn’t know as much about Monarch’s strengths and weaknesses as he would prefer. He _did_ , however, recall Bob describing his suit as something that counted as both. It allowed him to hold a ton more power, but if it was breached, all the nuclear energy would flood out and wipe out the entire universe. Jason made sure to memorize this fact _very_ well, because preventing universes from getting destroyed was the whole reason he was here. No damaging the suit.

‘Aggressive’ Superman either didn’t know, or didn’t care. By the time Jason realized what was happening, the suit was already crumpling beneath Superman’s fingers, and not even thought was fast enough to stop it.

Luckily for everyone, Jason was able to completely bypass panic and go straight into Robin mode. He didn’t have time to stop the suit getting breached, but he _did_ have time to deal with the aftermath, if he was quick enough. Not that he actually thought that. There wasn’t time for actual thinking. The closest to a coherent thought he had in that moment was _Phoenix/Monarch energy signature has to happen._

No time to figure out how to do it. No time to figure out which atoms needed to go where. No time to wonder if it was even possible. No time to even close his eyes. Just barely enough time to will all the energy inside Monarch’s suit to be absorbed into his own body.

Things went white instantly. He didn’t let himself wonder if the blinding light, numbing heat, and deafening noise was from the explosion rather than the White Hot Room. But he couldn’t let himself go to the Room. Doing that meant losing control, and he _couldn’t_ lose control. Even if that meant enduring the white-hot agony while fully conscious.

He focused on his breathing. In and – No, not out. None of it out. He couldn’t think of letting anything out. He breathed in and held it, focused on the feeling of it in his chest, growing tighter and tighter. The pain was an anchor, keeping him steady as worse pain alien to any he’d felt before crashed into him with the force of a tsunami.

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, and the energy burning through his insides was too much. He couldn’t –

The heat around his hand dimmed to a familiar warmth. Fiery fingers twined between his own and squeezed gently. Jason never thought the feeling of flames flickering against his skin could be so comforting. He squeezed back, clinging so tightly it would have broken a flesh and blood hand.

He could do this. His breath was his anchor, keeping him steady, and the Phoenix Force was his lifeline, keeping his head above water. He could do it. He _had_ to do it.

He wouldn’t say that the… _everything_ faded away. It was more that he got used to it, finally exhaling and closing his eyes. He still saw white, even with his eyes closed, but it felt better.

_Just breathe. In… hold… out… In… hold… out…_

The air felt hot in his lungs. He didn’t think about just how high the temperature had to be for him to feel it. Instead, he thought about how he was starting to see a few spots of black in his vision, and the noise in his ears was getting some shape to it, rather than just being buzzing static. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

The next exhale came out as a laugh, because ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ was literally the exact opposite of what he was actually hoping for. In a distant, tingling way, he was able to feel his shoulders shake from it. Good. That was even more progress. He just had to keep this up, and he would be fine. Everything would be fine. He’d make sure of it. With this much power coursing through him, it’d be easy.

Eventually, he felt like it was time to open his eyes. He did so, and found that he could actually see vague silhouettes of things, and pale shades of color were starting to appear. The voices in his ear were a roaring crowd, rather than the static of an entire universe. And he could move his fingers and toes. He felt the Phoenix start to pull away. He quickly squeezed his fingers closed again, keeping it there. He didn’t let himself wonder why he did it.

_In… hold… out… In… hold… out…_

He became aware of a voice rising above the rest, though he was still far from making out what it was saying. He focused on it until he realized why it stood out. There was a crackle of normal, electronic static to it, and it wasn’t accompanied by the undercurrent of incoherent feelings, images, and sensations that flowed beneath all coherent thought. It was an actual, physical voice, transmitted through physical, electronic means. Jason waited until he felt like he had enough spare brainpower to figure out what the voice was without plunging right back into the White Hot Room, then did so.

It didn’t take much brainpower. Now that he paid attention to it, he could still feel the comm in his ear. Of course Batman would be trying to contact him after… Jason didn’t know what absorbing a universe-destroying amount of energy looked like to onlookers. Maybe it wasn’t visible at all. Maybe Batman was just trying to ask him why he was floating in mid-air doing nothing.

_In… hold… out… In… hold… out…_

Finally, the roaring thoughts faded to the point that he could just barely hear what Batman was saying. “… in. I repeat, come in, Phoenix. Report.”

Even somebody who wasn’t trained to interpret every waver and breath as blatant displays of emotion would be able to tell how panicked Batman sounded.

Jason used his free hand to reach up and activate the comm. It felt as though he were dragging his arm through muddy molasses, but he did it. (He forgot he was wearing his helmet, and didn’t notice how odd it was that he was still able to reach through it to the comm without any issue.) “I’m fine,” he said.

Batman made a noise that the comm could only translate as a rush of static. Jason, however, could sense the sudden burst of pain. He realized that he’d spoken telepathically instead of physically, and tried to close his mind. He tried very, _very_ hard, but it refused. The floodgates had opened, and there was no way for one man to close them now. The current was too strong.

Batman, as always, came to his senses first. Jason was still in his head, so he sensed the wave of calming images Bruce tried to shove in his face. Since he was Batman, and even more miserable and troubled than the one Jason knew, he wasn’t very good at the whole ‘positive thoughts’ thing. It didn’t succeed in calming Jason down, but some of that stoic practicality must have bled through the connection and made him realize that he really needed to figure out what was going on outside his own head. He still couldn’t see or hear or anything right, so the only way he could do it was by looking in others’ heads. And he was already in the head of the most observant person on the planet.

He knew that, even under normal circumstances, digging through somebody’s mind in a hurry was uncomfortable for them. In his current state, it probably felt like somebody jabbing a white-hot poker into your ear. He felt guilty for what this would put Bruce through, but there were lives at stake. He’d understand. At least, Jason hoped he would.

Things weren’t looking good. They’d never looked good, considering ‘things’ were a superpowered army invading a world whose heroes had all gotten pretty rusty, but now they looked especially not good. From everybody else’s perspective, what happened between Jason, Monarch, and ‘aggressive’ Superman was very unclear. There was a bright light, and by the time it dissipated enough for it to not blind anyone that looked at it, Monarch and ‘aggressive’ Superman had vanished and Jason was floating there glowing white and not responding to anything.

One would think that Monarch’s death would cut the head off the snake, but it seemed that this snake was a hydra. The army came here to cause havoc, and leader or not they were going to cause some fucking havoc. And now that the barriers on his mind had been blown open with no hope of repair, Jason could sense just how much pain and fear they were causing.

It was too much. It was worse than absorbing all that energy. Way worse. The energy was merely a force of nature. Those atoms didn’t ask to be used to power Monarch. They were just following the laws of physics. But this? Human suffering? There was no reason for it. No reason beyond petty sadism. Why couldn’t they see how much suffering they were causing? Why couldn’t they realize that people were people, just like them? Why couldn’t they just – just –

**STOP.**

In an instant, everything got quieter. Jason extricated himself from Batman’s mind (as much as he could, anyway, without proper barriers) and opened his eyes again. He could make out the world a bit better, though it still looked like it’d been painted with watercolors that were far more water than paint. He carefully began lowering himself to the ground as the thoughts flowing past and through him changed. There was still way too much pain and panic, but those were quickly becoming eclipsed by confusion and a general sense of ‘Is it over?’

Jason’s toes touched the ground. The moment he put his weight on his legs instead of telekinesis, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. He didn’t have the energy to get back up. He barely had the energy to turn his head and look around.

Monarch’s army had just… vanished. Had Bob figured out some way to send them back to their home universes? Would’ve been nice if he’d done it before Jason had to melt his brain. He let all the telekinetic barriers fall. It didn’t lighten the load on him at all. He should’ve noticed the change, right? Those had been some pretty big barriers. It wasn’t like he was completely out of it. He should have noticed… He…

He should have noticed that the army vanished the exact same way the Joker had, while he was in nearly the exact same mental state.

He couldn’t have vaporized an entire army without going to the White Hot Room. He couldn’t. Right?

He just barely sensed the vibration in his skull that told him somebody was approaching. He didn’t need to turn his head to find out who it was. Bruce’s worry washed over him, along with all his hypotheses, theories, and deductions regarding what had just happened.

Batman knelt next to him and reached to take off his helmet. Jason willed it away before he activated any of the traps. Bruce froze at the sight, jaw clenching tight. “Jason?” he said. It was amazing how many questions could be contained in a single name. _Are you all right? What happened? Why didn’t you respond? Where did the army go?_

“I don’t know,” Jason croaked. Now that somebody firmly entrenched in his mind as _safe_ was here, the panic he’d been holding back slipped through the bars of its cage and made itself at home. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Batman placed a finger on Jason’s jugular to check his pulse. “Easy,” he murmured, so gently it was easy to forget that this wasn’t Jason’s Bruce, that this Bruce was a murderer not even Alfred had been able to support. “Tell me what happened.”

Jason took a few deep breaths before he said, “A Superman ruptured Monarch’s suit, and I had to absorb all the nuclear energy. I… It’s all… It’s a lot. And… I think I vaporized the army. They were hurting people, and I could _feel_ it, and I could feel how none of them cared, and –“

Batman lifted him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Jason thought he might have tried to murmur some reassurances, but he couldn’t hear them. He was too distracted by the puzzle Batman was assembling in his head.

_The energy signature of the coming disaster was a mixture of the Phoenix Force and Monarch._

_Jason now wields a mixture of the Phoenix Force and Monarch’s powers._

_Therefore, Jason must be –_

No. No. No. No, that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. Jason didn’t want to hurt anyone. He wasn’t like them. He could control this. He just had to get used to it. Bruce couldn’t possibly really think he would… He wouldn’t. Bruce knew that. Jason was misinterpreting, or projecting his own paranoia, or… or… It couldn’t be right. He had to be wrong.

Bruce adjusted the hug into a one-armed one so he could – No. No, Jason couldn’t have read that right, either. Bruce wouldn’t do that. Bruce would _never_ do that. Bruce was his dad. He loved him. He’d never hurt his own son, outside of training sessions. Bruce wouldn’t hurt him. It took Jason a long time to realize that, but once he did, it was one of the few truths of the universe he could cling to. Bruce wouldn’t hurt him. Bruce wouldn’t hurt him. Bruce wouldn’t k-

He felt sharp metal at the back of his neck, moving at just the right angle to sever his spinal cord and kill him instantly. Survival instinct or the Phoenix Force acted before he could comprehend what was happening.

Bruce vanished, and Jason fell back to the ground. It only took him a moment to realize a truth of the universe had proven false, and another rose to take its placed.

Jason had killed Bruce.

Jason killed Bruce.

He killed Bruce.

He killed Bruce. He killed Bruce. He killedBrucehekilledBrucehekilled _BrucehekilledBruceheki **lledBrucehekilledBrucehe**_


	34. Threads of an Old Life

Jason woke up in a cold sweat, but he couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about. Nothing good, obviously, so maybe not remembering was a good thing. So why did everything seem so… off?

His head felt too fuzzy to work it all out. He burrowed his head deeper into the pillow and pulled the blanket over his head so he could hide from the world. The world was big and cold and mean, and his bed was sheltered and warm and nice. Frankly, he wasn’t sure why he ever bothered getting out of it.

Wait. Since when had he stayed somewhere long enough to think of the bed as his? Since when had he felt safe without sightlines to all entrances?

He sat up and tossed the blanket aside, hand instantly going to his hip for a gun. To his surprise, he actually found one. Why would he go to sleep with guns still in the holsters? That was just asking for it to go off if he rolled over in his sleep.

The surprise over that was quickly overwhelmed by his surprise at the realization that he was back in _his_ room. The one at the manor. The one he hadn’t been in since he was fifteen. The one that he shouldn’t be in right now. He wasn’t quite sure why he shouldn’t be there – the answer was like an eel, wriggling and slipping away before he could get a grasp on it – but he knew it.

He got out of the bed to properly look around and make sure it wasn’t just the angles and lighting making it look like literally nothing had changed since the last time he was there. No matter how many times he rubbed his eyes, or turned the lights on and off, or tilted his head and squinted, the room remained the same. Apparently, it had remained the same for over three years. The same bland default guest room paintings hanging on the walls that he’d never bothered replacing, the bookcase still bursting at the seams with books he’d get around to reading eventually, even the same homework strewn across the desk. That was weird. Usually Alfred would at least try and tidy things up a little. Then again, usually Jason wouldn’t be dead.

It was like they didn’t want to mess anything up in case Jason came home and got mad that they couldn’t find anything. The thought was stupid and senseless, but grief did weird things to people. Leaving a room untouched except for the occasional dusting (because three years would have built up a lot of dust if Alfred didn’t come in and clean up every now and then) was pretty healthy, all things considered.

The door creaked open. That was the same, too. Anybody who lived in this house would want to know if someone was trying to sneak into their room.

Jason drew a gun and pointed it at the door before he turned his head to see who it was.

It took a moment for him to recognize Damian in normal clothes (normal by rich, preppy standards, anyway) and not glaring at him. The kid looked as baffled at his presence as Jason himself was.

“Todd?” he said. “How – Aren’t you supposed to – What?”

All right, it looked like Jason would have to be the friendly one, disturbing as that thought was. “Mornin’, kiddo,” he said brightly, putting the gun away. “Is it morning? I dunno.”

Damian’s glare came back in full force. “I am not a ‘kiddo’. And yes, it _is_ morning. What are you doing here?”

Jason shrugged. “I was kinda hoping you could tell me. I just… woke up here.”

Damian’s annoyed glare morphed into a suspicious one. “Really? You have absolutely no memory of how you travelled from an alternate universe directly into your bedroom?”

Alternate universe? What was he… No, no, that was right. His memories of it were hazy, but he’d _definitely_ been in an alternate universe before he woke up here. “Nothing concrete,” he said. “I feel like… Like there’s something important I was supposed to do, but I can’t remember it…”

“Something important?” Damian repeated so sardonically Jason could practically taste it on the air. “You mean like the multiverse-threatening army your friends got everyone so worked up about?”

Jason swore and brushed past Damian to get to the hallway and hurry toward the Batcave. How the fuck did he forget about Monarch? He had to go find Donna and Kyle and whatever Monitor was hanging out in this universe so they could… could…

The more Jason thought about Monarch and how he was supposed to face him, the fuzzier his head got. He was still forgetting something, something important, something that made his eyes sting with tears, something that felt like a drop of searing sunlight spreading through his brain every time he brushed against the edges of it, something –

He had to stop and lean against a wall before his sense of balance completely abandoned him. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he remember anything? Something important happened. Something even more important than just teleporting back home. Why did trying to remember feel like climbing a fence made entirely of electric barbed wire? Why –

Two sets of footsteps approached. One of them was light and quiet enough to instantly set off alarm bells in Jason’s head, but the other was familiar enough to calm him right back down.

He lifted his head and offered Alfred as genuine a smile as he could, given that his brain felt like it was about to melt again. “Hey, Alfie.”

If Alfred felt any confusion or surprise at Jason’s appearance, he kept it carefully hidden behind his good ol’ British stiff upper lip. “Master Jason, as happy as I am to see you home, I must ask that you inform us of your arrival in the future.”

“I’ll try,” said Jason, pushing off the wall and walking again. “Where’s B –“ He had to stop again, because for some reason thinking about Bruce made him want to scream, throw up, and cry all at once.

“Father and Grayson are at the Watchtower,” said Damian. “Trying to solve the mess you’ve apparently run away from.”

“Master Damian,” said Alfred, with enough… _something_ to have Jason turn to look at him. “We shall discuss that matter only when Masters Bruce and Dick have returned, which should be at any moment.”

Alfred was hiding something. It was obvious, at least to Jason. And yet, trying to formulate the right question to ask to get the right answer made his head hurt even more. He leaned against the wall again and buried his head in his hands. What was going on? What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he think straight? Why –

**_Don’t worry about it._ **

Clearly, trying to think about it all wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Might as well save himself the worry and heartache.

He raised his head and found Alfred and Damian staring at him, worried and frustrated (with a well-hidden hint of worry) respectively.

“Are you quite sure you’re all right, Master Jason?” asked Alfred. Jason knew enough Alfred-speak to translate that as, _We all know you are not all right, and if you tell me what’s wrong now it’ll save us all a great deal of trouble._

Jason shrugged. “I mean, nobody’s ever _really_ all right. I’m not physically hurt, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Alfred’s lips pressed together into a thin line that made it clear that _hadn’t_ been what he was asking.

Damian, on the other hand, seemed entirely satisfied by the answer. “Good. Then you can explain what you remember to Father and he can resolve everything.”

Once again, just the thought of Bruce made it impossible to force any sort of noise through his throat. He _should_ be happy to hand the reins over. Batman was Batman. If anyone could solve this, it was him. Jason never liked the thought of him putting himself in danger, but he thought he’d come to terms with it a long time ago. So why was the thought of Bruce in danger suddenly so…

**_It will be fine._ **

He’d be fine. Everything would be fine.

“Would you like something to drink while we wait, Master Jason?” Alfred asked.

Jason couldn’t think of anything in the world he’d like more than a cup of Alfred’s hot chocolate at that moment, so he wordlessly nodded and followed him down to the kitchen. Damian trailed after them, though the suspicious looks he kept giving Jason made it clear he wasn’t doing it for hot chocolate. He probably hoped Jason would regain his memories at any moment, and wanted to be there when it happened so he could be the one to pass it on to Bruce and get the ever-elusive Obvious Fatherly Approval Points.

He hadn’t been in the kitchen since he’d died, either. Unlike his room, it actually showed signs of time passing. There was a big, expensive-looking, and clearly well-used new coffee machine sitting on the counter, the spice rack had been reorganized to accommodate some new additions, and the sink had been replaced. Just different enough to not feel like a tomb locked in time, and still more than familiar enough to have Jason relaxing despite himself.

He sat down on one of the stools at the island and holy shit, it felt weird to be able to just sit from a standing position and not have to hop up onto it. As Alfred got to work on the hot chocolate, Damian hopped onto the stool next to Jason and fixed him with a piercing, calculating look that looked ludicrously out of place on a ten-year-old face.

“So, what exactly is the Phoenix Force?” he asked with zero prompting.

It took Jason a moment to realize that oh, yeah, right, not everyone had first-hand experience and knowledge of it, and those that did probably wouldn’t pass it along to a child who was genetically predisposed to stick his nose where it didn’t belong.

“I’m still not totally sure,” Jason said honestly. “What matters is that it’s a big powerful space bird living in my head giving me weird powers.”

“How can you be sure it isn’t affecting your behavior?” Damian asked.

**_I’m not_ ** **.**

Jason shrugged. “I think I’ve got a good read on it. It just wants to observe.”

Damian scoffed. “And how, precisely, are you supposed to ‘get a read’ on a being capable of reading and affecting your thoughts?”

**_Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t understand._ **

“I just know, okay?” Jason snapped.

Alfred took his eyes off the measuring cup to give him a disapproving look.

“Oh, so he’s allowed to insult me all he wants, but I’m not allowed to sound slightly snippy?” Jason huffed.

“Master Damian is still learning the finer points of proper manners,” said Alfred. “You, on the other hand, know perfectly well what is acceptable and what is not, and still choose to be rude.”

Jason rolled his eyes while Damian scoffed again. Jason wondered if Alfred was doing that on purpose. Giving them a common enemy to bond against. He remembered that the few times he and Dick really bonded were usually spent complaining about Bruce. Maybe Alfred remembered that, too, and decided to try the strategy out when he got some more sorta-grandchildren to replace him.

“Fine,” Damian grumbled. “If you refuse to speak of the Phoenix Force, then what about Mother? Everyone knows of your connection with her, now.”

Alfred seemed focused entirely on pouring ingredients into a saucepan, which Jason knew meant he was eavesdropping but wouldn’t talk about anything he heard unless it was literally a case of life and death.

“Whatever,” said Jason, idly fidgeting with a coaster sitting on the island. It was a new one. Green. Funny how they only got his favorite color after he was already dead.

“Have you had any contact with her since I came here?” Damian was trying to make it sound like an aggressive interrogation. He wasn’t entirely succeeding.

“No,” said Jason. He resisted the urge to add, _And we’re all better off without her._ It was going to take a lot more time before he was ready for that conversation.

“I see,” said Damian, visibly struggling not to pout.

They sat in silence long enough for Alfred to finish. He poured them both a mug, said, “If you need me, I’ll be preparing for Masters Bruce’s and Dick’s return,” and left the kitchen.

Now it was just Jason, Damian, and the veritable fuckton of things left unsaid between them.

As soon as Alfred’s footsteps could no longer be heard, Damian turned to him and asked, “How did you die?”

Jason was very glad that he hadn’t taken a sip of hot chocolate a moment earlier, because if he had he probably would have choked on it, and he already had one too many embarrassing deaths under his belt. He lowered the mug and said, as casually as he could muster, “You’ll have to be more specific. I die a lot.”

“The first time. You said something about your mother.”

“Biological mother,” Jason corrected. “My real mother was the one that didn’t sell me out to the Joker.”

Damian mulled this over for a moment. “I suppose causing your death would negate any obligation you had for giving you life.”

Wow. The little demon was admitting that blood family didn’t trump all? Maybe there really was hope for him. “I don’t know if she thought he’d actually kill me. Maybe she thought he’d…” He shook his head and took a gulp of warm, calming hot chocolate. “Never mind. She knew there wasn’t any good outcome for me, and she did it anyway.”

“Why?” Damian asked.

Sometimes, Jason wished his telepathy worked in hindsight, so he could know the true answer to that. But it didn’t, and he didn’t think he really needed it, anyway. “The Joker was blackmailing her. She was embezzling money from the organization she worked for, and she got in a lot of trouble in Gotham, so he had a lot of material to work with. I think she hoped I’d be worth enough to clean the slate. It didn’t work. He just killed her, too.” And how pathetic was it that Jason still felt guilty about that, despite everything?

Damian stared down at his mug, brow furrowed as deeply as a philosopher trying to work out the grand, unifying truth of the universe. Or maybe just a child adjusting his worldview to account for a mother’s love not being absolute.

Before he could come up with any weird, invasive questions, they both heard thundering footsteps coming towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Damian pull a dagger from a seemingly ordinary fold of fabric in his clothes.

Jason knew he should reach out to stop him, assure him that he recognized the steps as Bruce’s. He would have done those things if the thought of seeing Bruce face-to-face (or possibly face-to-cowl, judging by the direction he was coming from) didn’t have him frozen in place, fear and guilt pounding through his veins, brain searing and seeming to twist around in his skull in order to keep _something_ hidden.

Somebody threw the kitchen door open hard enough that the doorknob probably left a dent in the wall. The instinctual startle gave Jason the energy to turn his head to look at the newcomer, and nothing more. His jaw wouldn’t unclench to make a comment on how Alfred wouldn’t be happy about the wall getting damaged, or how Bruce was such a hypocrite for putting the fear of God into Jason about never wearing the Robin suit inside the manor now that he was standing in full view of a window in full Batman glory. He was frozen again, stuck staring at a figure that was supposed to make him feel either angry or safe with no in-between, and instead feeling nothing but horror and disgust at himself for… for… for _what?_

**For nothing.**

No. There was something. Something that he didn’t want to remember, but needed to, because he was already suffering and he might as well do it while knowing why.

He reached into his own mind and pinned it down with sheer force of will until it stopped squirming and showed him –

_An anchor tight in his chest. A lifeline warm in his hand. An arm wrapped around him, pulling him close. Sharp metal at his neck. Then empty space. Nothing but nothingness. It wasn’t even black, because black was a color, and color required light. This was just… absence, and emptiness, and –_

**Forget about it, Jason.**

He blinked, and knew he’d missed something. Damian had retreated to a more defensible position and was staring at him like a wild, unpredictable animal, Dick had entered the room to hover anxiously behind Bruce, and Bruce had turned his stool around so he could get right in his face, grasp him by the shoulders, and call his name.

Jason’s return to reality must have been visible, because Bruce relaxed his grip a bit and asked, “Can you hear me, Jason?”

“Yeah,” said Jason. For some reason, his throat felt sore. “I think I must’ve zoned out there or something.”

“No, I believe that would count as a mental breakdown,” said Damian, without a shred of tact or empathy.

“Damian!” Bruce and Dick both snapped at once. Jason got the feeling they’d been saying that name with that inflection a _lot_. Or, he would have gotten the feeling if he had any feelings left to spare.

“What do you mean?” Jason asked Damian.

“It was a bit hard to make out with all the blubbering,” Damian began.

Bruce didn’t let him finish. “Damian, go to your room. You’re still grounded.”

“Fine,” Damian huffed. “But I want a prompt and accurate explanation as soon as possible.”

Once he left the room, Dick banged on the door to get him to stop eavesdropping, and his stomping footsteps finally faded, Jason asked, “What did I say?”

Bruce and Dick shared a look so heavily dripping with silent communication that Jason rolled his eyes.

“I’m a big boy,” he said. “I can handle it.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to,” said Bruce.

Jason glared at him. “Look, I’ve already got too many blanks in my recent memory. It’d be nice to know _something_ I did.”

Bruce and Dick shared another glance. Eventually, Bruce turned back to Jason and said, “You were apologizing. You never said what for, just that you were sorry, that it was an accident, and that you didn’t mean to.”

Jason avoided looking Bruce in the eyes as he tried to absorb that information. Honestly, having a random mental break and begging Bruce for forgiveness was depressingly plausible. The only thing disproving that theory was the ‘accident’ part. The stuff he really had to apologize for wasn’t an accident, and he definitely meant it. So, that narrowed it down a bit. Had he been thinking about when he nearly killed Tim? Or actually burnt down amusement mile and left him scared and worried for a month? Or when he broke his promise not to kill anyone within less than a day? Even narrowed down, there was still a lot to pick from.

“Did I give any hints on what I was apologizing for?” he asked. “I’ve done a lot of stupid shit, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Dick shook his head. “Nothing. Just…” He shifted uncomfortably. “It was pretty hard to watch.”

Huh. Maybe Jason was better off without that memory, if it was that embarrassing. “Well, that’s one memory filled in. How about some more?”

Bruce and Dick looked at each other again. When Jason used to wish they’d start getting along again, he didn’t realize how annoying it would be.

“We don’t know what happened,” Bruce said eventually. “Nobody’s been able to go back to that universe or contact anyone from it.”

“Not even the Monitors?” Jason asked.

“They said…” Dick trailed off when Bruce shot him a warning look. “They said they couldn’t.”

Jason opened his mouth to tell them he could tell the Monitors said more than that, and he was a grown adult, and they didn’t need to shelter him, and **changed his mind.** He’d already made enough of a mess of things. He couldn’t quite remember what that mess was, but it definitely existed, and everybody was definitely better off if he just left the whole saving the multiverse thing to other people.

**Let’s just be normal, Jason. Please. I want to know what it’s like.**

In fact, everybody would be better off if he left the entire saving people thing to other people. Clearly, he wasn’t very good at it. Well, okay, he wasn’t going to lie, he _was_ good at it. He didn’t mess up that often. But when he messed up, he _really_ messed up, and if he kept bringing bad stuff into the world at this rate then he’d never be able to do enough good to cancel it out.

It was a big, complicated subject and his brain hurt too much for anything beyond the small and simple. Like his bed, and how comfy it was, and how much he’d like to be in it right now.

“I’m tired,” he announced, getting to his feet. He didn’t take the hot chocolate with him as he left the room. He didn’t deserve it.

**Yes, you do.**

He didn’t know why, but he knew that he didn’t.

Bruce or Dick might have said something to him as he left, but he didn’t hear it. The ringing in his ears was too loud. The black and white spots dancing in his vision made it nearly impossible to see where he was going, so it was a good thing the route back to his room was still ingrained in his muscle memory. His head hurt too much to even begin trying to figure out why it was hurting.

Finally, he got back to his room. He took off his jacket, boots, weapons, and all the other things that would make lying in a bed uncomfortable. By the time he finished, he barely had the energy to do one more thing before flopping down and letting himself become dead to the world.

He opened the closet. He paused for a moment, because holy _shit_ he’d been tiny when he got these clothes. He got over it and moved the assorted shoes and various fallen garments until he found it – his old teddy bear.

Technically speaking, it wasn’t _his_ old teddy bear. He’d pawned all his childhood toys off for food and rent money after Willis died. This was one of the old Wayne family heirlooms that had been relegated to the attic until the next generation got born. Apparently, Dick didn’t count for that, or he’d already had his own toys, or something, because Alfred specifically mentioned that he hadn’t used it when he ‘accidentally’ left the teddy in Jason’s room after it became clear his nightmares weren’t going away any time soon. Outwardly, Jason scoffed at the notion that he, a fully-grown eleven-year-old, might need a stupid teddy bear to sleep. Inwardly, he’d liked the idea of having something that was specifically _his_ and not just a hand-me-down from Dick. So, the teddy was carefully hidden in the closet, resolutely never given a name because giving names to toys was for babies, and clung to as a lifeline during the bad nights.

In the present, Jason picked it up and stumbled over to the bed. He let himself fall backwards on it and immediately regretted it, wincing at the pain even that soft impact sent through his skull. He hugged the teddy tightly to his chest and tried to breathe through the pain and tightness in his lungs. It was smaller than he remembered. Everything was smaller. This room and all the happy memories from it didn’t belong to him. It belonged to a dead boy. He shouldn’t –

**Relax.**

He shouldn’t let himself get so worked up. He was in a fucked up mental state, and he needed to give himself time to relax and be able to think straight before he did anything drastic.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply until his tense muscles unwound themselves and his mind eased enough to wander. And given that he was a telepath, they wandered right out of his head and into the nearest ones. He’d gotten pretty used to being in this weird state when trying to go to sleep. He’d found it best to just let it all wash over him and not pay attention to the actual thoughts, unless something dangerous popped out at him.

Something dangerous popped out at him.

It was a thought shared by Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. Obviously, each of them worded it differently (as much as you could word a thought), but it boiled down to, _How and when do we tell Jason that the Monitors said that universe was completely destroyed?_

**Forget it.**

How could it be destroyed?

**Forget it.**

Did Monarch do it? A rupture in his suit would have caused that kind of catastrophe, if he remembered correctly.

**Yes. That’s what happened.**

But then why didn’t Jason stop it? He should have been better. It was his fault. All those people were –

**Never mind. Forget it.**

The memory was already fading. Why? He tried to cling to it, but it slipped between his fingers.

**It’s better this way.**

Even without the memory, the guilt remained, clawing at his chest and throat with ice-cold talons.

**Why can’t you just forget?**

The pain in his head doubled, and he drifted into a troubled sleep.


	35. Downhill at Terminal Velocity

Jason woke up with headache still firmly entrenched in his brain, along with a sense of foreboding. He carefully nestled the teddy back in its hiding place and put all of his stuff back on (sans helmet, which was des – **not there** ) before he left his room to investigate.

In a suspiciously short amount of time, he bumped into Alfred. “Good afternoon, Master Jason,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”

He wasn’t. His already loose definition of ‘normal’ was just changing to compensate. “I’m adjusting,” he said aloud. “What’s going on?”

Alfred knew better than to try and say ‘nothing’. “Masters Bruce and Dick, among others, reconvened with the Monitors at the Watchtower. Bob informed them that you convinced him to give them the wrong ETA for Monarch’s army to ensure you would face him alone.”

Shit. _Shit._ “Would you believe me if I said I was still feeling tired and needed to take another nap?” he asked nervously.

Alfred’s expression remained stoically furious. “No, I would not. They are waiting in the cave, and they already know you are awake.”

Fuck. So even if Jason _did_ go back to bed or run away and try to ignore everything, somebody would come and track him down. “Wish me luck,” he said, turning and walking towards the Batcave.

“You do not need luck,” Alfred called after him. “Only honesty.”

Honesty. He could do that. They’d understand. He could guarantee that both Batman and Nightwing would have done the same thing in his shoes, so there was no way for them to lecture him without being huge hypocrites. Not that that had ever stopped them from lecturing him.

He wasn’t sure if that ride down to the cave was the most stressful one he’d ever taken. Considering how many times he’d gone down there, and how often Bruce had gotten mad at him, there was _probably_ at least one that was worse. He couldn’t think of one at the moment, but it probably existed. This one was definitely in the top ten, though. Especially when he started to hear voices coming from below that were not Bruce or Dick.

He arrived before he could realize how great an idea it would be to telekinetically break out and fly far, far away. Bruce, Dick, Donna, Kyle, and two Monitors Jason couldn’t tell apart all turned to look at him.

He buried all his nervousness and casually strolled up to them with a, “S’up?”

Nobody was amused.

“Have you remembered anything?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing,” said Jason. The strange images and sensations from his dreams weren’t memories. Or, at least, he really hoped they weren’t.

“Does the Phoenix remember anything?” asked one of the Monitors. Jason didn’t think it was Bob, but he couldn’t tell.

“How would I know?” Jason snapped. “And if it did, how are you supposed to get it to talk to you?”

The other Monitor (who Jason thought was probably Bob, but he wasn’t going to say it until it was confirmed) stepped forward. “We could try to contact it telepathically.”

Jason took an automatic, instinctive step back. “No!”

The cave gave a slight, but noticeable tremor.

“Jason,” said Donna soothingly. “Just take a deep breath and explain why not.”

Jason took a breath, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times for good measure. He had to be more careful, now that he had Mon –

**Forget.**

He had to be careful.

“Last person that talked with the Phoenix was left brain dead,” he said. “Though, it was less ‘talk’ and more me siccing it on him.”

“Are you going to sic it on me?” Maybe-Bob asked.

“Not if you don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t. It still might not like you poking it, though,” Jason warned. Then an idea struck him. “Actually, let’s make this easy.”

He closed his eyes and did his best to dive deep into his own mind, twisty and stuttering and burning as it was. He went deeper and deeper until he found the White Hot Room.

No sooner had he arrived than the Phoenix’s voice filled his head until it felt like the words were cracking his skull and leaking out. “Some things are best forgotten.”

He woke up on his feet, but only because Batman was holding him upright.

“It doesn’t wanna talk,” said Jason as soon as he could hear his voice above the ringing in his ears. “And I doubt anything’s gonna convince it to.”

Kyle muttered a swear and then said, louder, “It realizes the entire multiverse is still at stake, right?”

“Is it? I thought Monarch…” He didn’t know where that thought had come from, and he didn’t know where it was going, either, apart from out of his reach no matter how hard he tried to cling to it. “He must’ve… I don’t…”

Next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair, and everyone had changed position to crowd around him, forming a diverse spectrum of expressions ranging from worried to pissed off.

He groaned and closed his eyes. “What happened?” he asked.

“You suddenly started hyperventilating, and now suddenly you’re fine,” said Donna with a troubled frown. “Do you have _any_ memory since you sent Kyle and I back here?”

Jason did his best to dredge up every memory he could. He had very little idea what order they were supposed to go in but there were _some_. “Did I talk to the Phoenix before or after you left?”

“If it was before, you didn’t tell us,” said Kyle. “And is nobody else going to mention him giving us the wrong timetable?”

“We’ve got more important things to worry about,” said Bruce.

“And I’m sure he meant well,” said Dick.

“Yeah, and look how it turned out.” Jason froze as he realized what he’d said. What was he talking about? Where did that come from? Why was his head hurting so much again?

“Phoenix,” said maybe-Bob. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know!” Jason snapped. “I just woke up here, and I can’t think straight, and my head hurts all the time, and I have no idea what’s going on!”

“Deep breaths, Jason,” said Bruce, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The hand felt like a branding iron, even through all the layers of clothes and armor. Jason shook it off and took a deep breath through his nose, afraid that he’d throw up if he opened his mouth.

**You’re okay.**

He couldn’t keep going like this.

**It will be fine.**

_Somethings are best forgotten._

Was the Phoenix –

**Forget.**

“Phoenix.”

Jason blinked. Everything was fuzzy and weird and not good, so he couldn’t tell which of the Monitors said his name.

“Do you have an explanation for the energy signature?”

Jason knew what he was talking about. He knew he knew it. He just couldn’t find where the information was stored in his head. He couldn’t do anything but sit there and stare blankly ahead.

One of the Monitors pulled out his device, which immediately let out a loud beep. It wasn’t a good beep. Jason knew it wasn’t a good beep. And if he didn’t already know that, the look the Monitors shared would have told him. The Monitor with the device vanished before he could open his mouth to ask what that was all about. Maybe that was for the best. His thoughts were already barely coherent. Any words that came out of his mouth would probably be even less so.

“You still have the Phoenix Force, right?” asked Donna.

Jason nodded.

“So… crisis averted?” said Kyle hopefully.

Batman turned to the remaining Monitor. “Do you have any idea if Monarch escaped?”

Jason’s head was clear enough to realize that ‘escape’ was a weird word to use, but not enough to realize why.

“No. When he turned against us, he took steps to ensure we could not detect his whereabouts. He could simply be biding his time to strike again, but –“

“Stop.” Jason’s voice was weak, shaky, and all sorts of things he generally did his best to hide, but at least it was audible. Everyone turned to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” Dick asked.

“Everything.” The way the Monitor was talking was wrong. The way Bruce was talking was wrong. The way Jason’s head felt was wrong. His lack of memory was wrong. The fact that he was here at all was wrong. Everything felt wrong, and he didn’t know why, and he didn’t know how to make it right.

“Go back upstairs,” Bruce ordered. “We’ll debrief you when you feel up to it.”

Upstairs. The manor. It was still wrong, but less so. Jason nodded, got to his feet, and stumbled over to the elevator. He leaned against the wall, body far too heavy to hold itself up and head far too light to levitate. When the doors opened again to reveal Bruce’s office, it took all of Jason’s energy to shuffle over to the bookshelf, grab the first book that sparked nostalgic joy in his heart, and sit right there on the floor to begin reading.

He stared at the first page for a long time before he actually registered any of the words and realized what he was reading. It was one of the Artemis Fowl books. He didn’t remember the title or where it was in the timeline, but he could at least remember the scene. Artemis was being a cocky little shit and underestimating the guy he’d set up a meeting with. The first time he read it, Jason scoffed at his mistake. This time, Jason knew that, when he was thirteen, he probably would have made the exact same mistake. Hell, he’d probably make the same mistake now. The only difference was that he had powers to fall back on.

But Artemis didn’t have powers, and his loyal bodyguard Butler paid the price for him. Jason only got upset about that for a moment before remembering Butler being alive and well in the last book, so obviously something brought him back. Heroes in children’s books stayed dead about as often as they did in real life.

Jason let himself get lost in the book. It had always been easier to focus on the troubles of fictional characters than his own. It was a little harder when they intersected, like when Butler finally woke up and found that a second chance at life came at a price. For Butler, it was a decade or so of aging. For Jason, it was an entire uni –

**Forget.**

He waited for the headache to recede a little before he kept reading.

He was a good way through when Alfred walked into the room. “Ah, there you are,” he said, with the stuffy British equivalent of a sigh of relief. “You are aware that the library has far more books that would be to your liking, yes?”

Jason shrugged. “This is fine.” It was more than fine. This didn’t feel wrong. Trying to help, getting involved, messing it up, that was what felt wrong. This? Being... normal? It felt right. It didn’t hurt.

“Very well. You could at least take a seat in a proper chair. I should hope they are more comfortable than the floor, given how expensive they are.”

Right. Jason could manage that. He got to his feet and walked the five steps needed to get to the nearest chair without swaying too badly. It was a hard-won victory. When he sat down, he couldn’t start reading again right away because his vision was swimming too much.

Alfred was still unwilling to leave him alone (for good reason, he had to admit), so he looked at the cover of the book and said, “Ah. Was that the series about gods, or fairies?”

“Fairies,” said Jason. “Honestly, though, this one’s more like a heist story with some magic thrown in.”

“Interesting. I believe Master Timothy was the one to store those books in this office.”

It was only his love of literature that gave Jason the willpower to not clench his fingers and damage the book.

Alfred continued, despite definitely being aware the distress the subject of the Replacement caused Jason. “He often helps Master Bruce with his daytime work. He is quite skilled at it, but he finds it rather unpleasant, and likes to have something on hand to distract himself. There is quite a bit of overlap between his literary tastes and yours.”

Jason took a deep, calming breath before he spoke, because this was Alfred and he really didn’t want to yell at him. “You’re saying we both enjoy popular books aimed at our age range, so that makes us besties?”

“I am saying that if you tried to find common interests with Master Timothy, you might be pleasantly surprised.”

Jason had to drop the book into his lap to stop himself from inadvertently damaging it. “It’s not that simple.”

“I am fully aware of that. Familial relationships are never simple. However, the first steps to forging one are.”

Jason opened his mouth to explain why this was different, but he couldn’t quite find the right words, and even if he could, he doubted they’d fit around the lump in his throat. How was he supposed to just walk up to the Replacement and ask him about his favorite books after he nearly killed him? How could he be sure he wouldn’t accidentally hurt him in a fit of rage again? There was still a lot of rage left. No matter how often he reminded himself that the Replacement was just another kid trying to do the right thing and help people, part of him refused to see him as anything other than… well… the Replacement. And he didn’t know how to fix that.

**Don’t worry. I do.**

Or… maybe it _could_ be that simple. Now that he thought about it, it was hard to remember why he’d been so angry in the first place. “I’ll try,” he said, picking the book back up. “When I feel –“

**Wait. There is something we must deal with.**

Something happened. Jason couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but something had changed, and it felt wrong, just like not being normal felt wrong. And he could sense it right outside on the lawn.

He set the book aside and got to his feet. Any light or aching headedness had vanished in the face of an actual, genuine, immediate threat. “Hold on. I gotta deal with something.”

Alfred frowned and opened his mouth to ask what he meant, or tell him to rest and leave it to someone else, or any other thing Jason didn’t have a proper answer or argument for.

**Don’t worry. I do.**

There must have been some well-adjusted part of psyche that chose only that moment to make itself known and take over. It almost felt like another person pulling the muscles in his face back into a smile and using his voice to say, “Don’t worry. This shouldn’t take long.” He handed the book to Alfred, making sure it was still open at the right place. “Could you put a bookmark in for me? Thanks.”

That succeeded in distracting Alfred until Jason’s legs, seemingly of their own accord, took him out of earshot. Part of him found the sudden lack of control worrying. A small part, easily overwhelmed by the pain and heat radiating from his brain and the _something_ waiting for him outside.

He spotted them through a window as he approached the front door. It would be difficult not to notice them, as brightly and bizarrely clad as they were. They looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place them. He’d probably learned about them back when he was Robin, but his mind could only hold so much information and chose to focus on more immediate threats.

He reached the front door. He was able to exert just enough influence over his limbs to make sure he threw both doors open as dramatically as possible. Whatever part of his psyche was in control followed suit and made the walk toward the small, multicolored crowd more of a swagger.

“Phoenix,” greeted an old man who might have been cosplaying Zeus.

“Highfather,” greeted Jason’s voice.

Any alarm at the continued lack of control was drowned out by recognition. Highfather. Leader of the New Gods. Basically, the anti-Darkseid.

Both Jason and his independent thoughts were in agreement when he said, “What are you doing here?”

“We have heard the fate of Earth-51,” said the Highfather. “And that you are now a match for the energy foretelling the coming disaster.”

Jason had no idea what he was talking about. His voice said, “The destruction of Earth-51 was regrettable, but it shall not be repeated. The Monitors must have read the readings incorrectly.”

The Highfather’s expression became one of sorrow and disappointment. “Why? Why would you do such a thing? You are life, not death.”

A laugh came out of Jason’s mouth – stuttering, harsh, and awkward, as if he had never laughed before. He hadn’t thought himself capable of making such a noise. The words that followed were just as alien. “Yes. I am life. And from this new perspective, I have seen just how cruel life can be. I have seen the horrors and injustices I have allowed to fester.”

“Is that why you did it?” the Highfather asked. “To cleanse that universe of its sins?”

Jason’s head shook. “No. That was…”

_Monarch’s power. His army’s death. Batman’s embrace, and his absence. Black that wasn’t even a color, just a void of light and life and all things._

Jason let out a scream he couldn’t hear over the white noise in his ears as he fell to his knees, clutching at his head.

He’d killed Bruce. He hadn’t meant to, or wanted to, but he had.

**I’m sorry. I wanted to protect you.**

He could hear the Phoenix’s voice now, and he could discern it from his own thoughts in his memories. He believed that it had good intentions. If the Phoenix Force weren’t actively holding its powers back, Jason probably would have burnt everything in a mile’s radius to ash by now. But just like everyone else in his life that had tried to protect him, it ultimately failed.

Jason couldn’t wrangle all his roaring, raging feelings into coherent thought, so the Phoenix did it for him. “That was an accident, caused by events I will be sure to prevent in the future.” It was hard to tell if the rough edges to its words were its own emotions, or if it was just his emotionally ravaged vocal cords.

“What sort of accident?” asked the Highfather.

The Phoenix couldn’t respond at once, because Jason used his voice to let out another strange, alien noise, though this one would be better described as a whimper. Once he was done, the Phoenix raised his head again to look at the Highfather and said, “In my attempts to defend my host, I made a miscalculation that caused a…”

A miscalculation. The Phoenix Force killed Jason’s father, and called it a fucking _miscalculation._

**He was not your father. And what else am I supposed to call it?**

Jason didn’t have an answer for that. Not a coherent or logical one, anyway. So, he switched to a topic he _did_ have coherent and logical thoughts about.

He rested his head against the ground and whispered, “You didn’t have to kill him. You could’ve… vaporized his weapons, or broken his arms, or knocked him out, or… or… _anything_.”

**In hindsight, yes. I could have. But I did not, and we must press on.**

“If you could have, then why didn’t you?” Jason snarled.

**I’d just dealt with Monarch’s army by vaporizing them. It was the first solution that came to mind.**

Jason almost wished he were in that stupid mental field, so he had a robin to glare at. It didn’t matter, he supposed. The Phoenix could sense his feelings anyway. “You’re the Big Bang. If I remember right, you put the building blocks of the universe together in less than a second. I think you could’ve handled coming up with a better plan in that timeframe.”

**Creation comes naturally. Thought does not.**

Jason realized that there were actual, physical voices lurking at the edge of his hearing. He shoved all his feelings and fragments of thoughts as far away as he could so he could focus on them. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t quite decipher what they were saying. All he could tell was that their tone was setting off alarm bells in his head.

Oh. Wait. He was a telepath.

He opened his mind, and instantly found himself in the White Hot Room with the entire universe’s thoughts drowning himself out. He willed himself back to reality (or maybe the Phoenix Force kicked him out) and tried again, this time cracking the mental gates open to a slit so tiny he doubted anything bigger than an atom could get through. It was still more than enough for the white noise to come flooding back in.

He closed himself off again and declared mission failed. It looked like it was either just him and the Phoenix Force, or literally everybody. All or nothing. He made a mental note not to try out his other powers unless there was literally no other option besides stand by and watch the universe get destroyed.

Except… that was how he got into this mess, right? Telling himself he’d only use his powers when needed, and finding just about every situation needed it. How could he live with himself if he stood by and let bad things happen? And yet, how could he live with himself knowing that his good intentions had destroyed an entire universe?

The Phoenix Force took back control before he could waste his vocal cords on more screaming and crying. “Highfather,” it said.

The New Gods (right, that was the name) stopped their discussion and turned to look at him… it… them?

“Those circumstances will not be repeated,” the Phoenix Force continued. “We only wish to live a normal, peaceful life and shall no longer involve ourselves in such matters. Is that not enough to satisfy your concerns?”

The Highfather’s frown deepened. “I am afraid not. I think it would be… unwise for you to continue this experiment. If you insist on continuing to learn of mortals, perhaps you could find a different host?”

Rage gripped Jason around the chest and squeezed until he could barely breathe and felt as though his ribs might crack. It took him a moment to realize that no, this wasn’t the usual rage. He knew what his rage felt like. This was different. This was the Phoenix Force’s.

White flame erupted from his body and filled his vision. “No,” the Phoenix snarled. “You will not take him from me.”

Jason was far too emotionally exhausted to even begin to comprehend and work through the implications of that. He just wanted to go back inside and read his book and hug his teddy bear until everything stopped hurting.

“Then you leave us no choice,” said the Highfather mournfully.

As drained, upset, and generally incoherent as Jason was, he knew that the Highfather had just made a mistake. You didn’t give an opponent warning like that if you wanted to win. Then again, even if he’d enacted his plan mid-sentence, it might not have helped him much. The Phoenix Force was… well… the Phoenix Force.

It erected a shield just in time to stop a guy on skis that had snuck up on them without Jason noticing.

“Black Racer,” the Phoenix noted, with an air of calm Jason knew was just that. An air. Not the roiling, seething anger burning through their veins. “So, this is to the death, then, is it?”

Jason didn’t have any control of his body anymore, so he focused as hard as he could on the words, _What are you doing, Phoenix?_ He had a really, _really_ bad feeling about this.

**I think it’s best you be unaware for this, Jason.**

Before Jason could respond, his mind was set adrift in a sea of dreams, without any way of steering himself back to shore.


	36. Now and Forever

Harley had seen so much weird shit lately that the only emotion she could summon when she saw a pillar of multicolored light ascend into the heavens, followed by a giant fiery bird, was mild confusion.

Trickster lowered his burger. “Uh, was that the signal?”

Harley shrugged and pulled out the communicator Nightwing had given her. She still wasn’t totally sure how it worked, but she was pretty sure she would’ve noticed some sign of a message being sent. “Let me check.”

As she typed as polite a translation of _What the fuck is going on_ as possible, Piper said, “I thought they would’ve called us already. That deadline is getting pretty close.”

“Maybe they forgot,” said Trickster hopefully.

Harley hit send and said, “I don’t think they woulda forgotten about the kris.”

“Then why didn’t they just take it?” Trickster asked.

Harley shrugged again.

“Would _you_ want anything to do with something designed to hurt someone you cared about?” asked Piper.

Oh… “Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” said Harley. “In an emotional, nonsensical kind of way. It’d be smarter to keep it close so you know nobody can get at it.”

“Well, if superheroes were smart, we’d be out of a job,” said Trickster.

Harley snorted. “Clearly you haven’t dealt with Batman.”

The communicator beeped. Harley raised it back up so she could read it so fast she nearly dropped it.

_AUTOMATED MESSAGE: We are uncertain of the current circumstances of Earth-51 and Monarch. Please wait for further updates._

“Is that an ‘Oh, no, that was the signal and we have to go get ourselves killed trying to be heroes’ expression, or an ‘Oh, no, we can’t go get ourselves killed trying to be heroes yet’ look?” asked Trickster.

“It’s an ‘Oh, shit, the Justice League doesn’t know what’s going on either’ look,” Harley replied.

“Huh,” said Piper, before taking another sip of his milkshake with the glazed expression of a man who has officially given up.

“Well, if we don’t know what’s going on, we might as well not know what’s going on with a full stomach,” Trickster declared, picking his burger back up.

“Agreed,” said Harley, stuffing as many fries into her mouth as she could fit. If the world was ending, there wasn’t any point in worrying about being healthy.

When they’d all finished their meals and were staring blankly into space pondering all the life decisions that had brought them to this point, the communicator beeped again. Harley was sorely tempted to just ignore it and pretend none of this had ever happened. Her damned newfound sense of empathy and heroism won out, however, like the fucking bitch it was.

_Nightwing: Meet me at the same place as last time ASAP. Bring the kris._

Harley relayed the message to Trickster and Piper.

“The sooner we get rid of that thing and go back to normal, the better,” Trickster declared.

“You mean the ‘normal’ of being wanted fugitives?” asked Piper.

Trickster shrugged. “We’ve been fine so far. We just have to keep a low profile until it blows over.”

Harley surreptitiously pulled out her phone and googled Trickster and Piper. It seemed like the ever-fickle public and media interest had shifted onto new targets. Mostly. They’d still have to be careful, but they might just make it out the other side without getting burned at the stake by an angry mob.

“Let’s go, then,” she said brightly.

The car ride was uneventful for about a minute before Trickster announced that he wanted to change back into costume for the meeting. He said that he wanted to be ready if things went south. Harley suspected it was also because of good ol’ vanity and pride. Being prepared was a good enough point, though, and Piper also wanted to change, so they ended up pulling back into Denny’s.

Before they got there, though, Trickster asked, “Don’t you have a costume, Harley?”

Harley’s fingers clenched and nearly sent them crashing into a streetlamp. She righted herself and said, “Not anymore.” Not all of the memories associated with the old red and black outfit were bad, but it was still a remnant of a life and relationship she wanted to leave behind.

By the time they arrived at the meeting place, Trickster and Piper once again looked ridiculous, and Harley made sure to bring her hammer.

Nightwing wasn’t the one waiting for them. It was a very alive and very angry Flash.

“Shit.” Trickster and Piper said it at the exact same time, but their tones were so different it was barely recognizable as the same word. Trickster said it in the expected, ‘Oh, no, my greatest archenemy is here’ tone. Piper said it in more of a ‘Oh, no, the physical manifestation of my guilt and regret is here’ tone.

“Long time no see,” said the Flash. Harley didn’t know the Flashes too well, but this one definitely sounded like number three. So, not the one that died.

“I thought we were meeting with Nightwing,” said Trickster. Piper just stared down at the ground with a look so conflicted Harley almost wanted to give him a hug.

Right on cue, Nightwing emerged from the shadows. “He wanted to tag along and set some stories straight,” he said. “If what you’ve said is true, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Trickster and Piper exchanged a doubtful look. Then Piper shot Harley and Nightwing a complicated look and said, “Could we get some privacy?”

“Sure,” said Nightwing. He looked to Harley. “It is sure, right?”

“Yeah, it’s sure.” Harley could tell that was going to be a trainwreck, and not the kind that was fun to watch.

She and Nightwing walked away and climbed up the nearest fire escape to an empty roof where they’d only hear what Flash, Trickster, and Piper were saying if they started screaming… which was actually pretty likely, all things considered.

Once she’d caught her breath, she asked, “So, is the whole invasion thing still on, or…?”

Nightwing’s expression darkened. “No. It isn’t. You have the kris, right?”

Harley nodded and pulled it out of her pocket. It was probably just her imagination that made it seem to shine too brightly in the sunlight.

Nightwing made no move to take it. “Do you have any idea how it works?”

“Well, I mean, I got _ideas_ ,” said Harley. “My favorite is the one where it has a power where whenever Phoenix holds it, a cake appears and the universe can’t be at peace ‘til he gives me a slice.”

“You know what I mean,” Nightwing snapped.

“Yeesh, what’s got your spandex in a twist?”

“My –“ He cut himself off and took a deep breath. “Look, I can’t even comprehend all the ways things could go disastrously wrong right now, so could you please just answer the question?”

That expression made Harley feel kind of bad for him, so she relented. “No. I got no idea how it works, beyond… y’know… trying to stab him, but I don’t think you like that idea.”

“No. I don’t. But…” He looked as though he might throw up, but he still pressed on. “If things are going the way we think they’re going, it might be the best option.”

Wait, was the cheeriest Bat seriously considering stabbing his… whatever Phoenix was to him? “How the double fudge sundae do you think things’re going?!” she asked incredulously.

“I think Phoenix might have already destroyed a universe, and he might be about to kill the biggest obstacle on Darkseid’s path to conquering our universe,” said Nightwing bluntly.

Harley took a moment to digest that information. In the end, she couldn’t digest all of it, and decided that she was very happy knowing as little as possible about this mess. “Yeah, some light stabbing sounds pretty reasonable. You know how to avoid anything vital, right?”

“I…” Nightwing stared at the kris and shook his head. “In theory, yes, but… I don’t know if I could do it.”

“Why not? It’s your idea!”

“I know that,” Nightwing snapped. “But if the moment comes, I know I’m going to hesitate, and I don’t think we can afford that.”

Made sense. Plans were always so much easier when you were sitting around brainstorming. Then the moment came, approximately eighty-three things had already gone wrong, there were more guards than reported, you had a sprained wrist, and you couldn’t find a red wire anywhere.

“So, who’s supposed to do it, then?” she asked.

Nightwing clearly didn’t have an answer to that. He was saved the embarrassment of standing in awkward silence by the beep of communicators.

The sense of dread Harley felt at the sound wasn’t quite enough to make her palms sweaty, so she pulled it out and read the message no problem.

_Phoenix has been located. Reports suggest he is fighting the New Gods. Do not approach until a safe method is determined._

Nightwing hissed something in a language Harley didn’t know, but the tone made it obvious it wasn’t for polite company.

“Who’re the New Gods?” Harley asked.

“Hold on,” Nightwing said, attention fixed on his communicator as he rapidly typed something into it.

Harley pouted. “Hey, you –“

Her words were swallowed by the sudden gust of wind that accompanied the Flash’s arrival. He put a hand on Nightwing’s shoulder and said, in a tone best suited for a funeral, “Hey, you want a lift?”

“What, didja already hand Trickster and Piper over to the feds?” asked Harley.

Both heroes startled as if they’d completely forgotten about her existence – which, given the context, they probably had.

Flash shook his head. “No, we talked things out. We’re good now. Well, me and Piper are good now. Trickster’s… you know… Trickster. I’m not sure anyone’s good with him. And even if I did get him locked up, he’d just escape eventually.”

Harley was surprised by how relieved she felt about that. Man, she really was doing some grade A projection on them, wasn’t she? Clearly, since these two random strangers who didn’t seem to have done anything too bad were able to talk things through with their primary nemesis and have a chance at redemption, she did too! The human brain could be astonishingly stupid and delusional.

“Good,” said Nightwing in a far-away sort of voice. He turned to look back at Harley, and she could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You three already promised to help, right?”

Oh, no. Nothing good ever came from people dredging up old promises in different contexts. “We promised to help you fight in an alternate universe, not whatever’s goin’ on now.”

“Isn’t it even more important to protect the universe you actually live in?” Flash pointed out.

Harley sighed. “Fine. I’ll help. But only because all my stuff is here. Don’t start thinkin’ you can come bother me whenever there’s trouble. I got a life, unlike _some_ people.”

* * *

Jason knew he was dreaming. If the memory of the Phoenix Force shoving him off a cliff into Dreamland wasn’t a big enough clue, the fact that all the situations he found himself in were happy ones definitely was. Things not going horribly wrong just completely broke his suspension of disbelief.

Also, the storyline was full of more contradictions and plot holes than the Metal Gear series. In one scene, he was having dinner with an alive, healthy, sober Catherine and talking about college plans. The next, he was at the manor planning a prank on Bruce with Dick and Stephanie’s help, with no indication as to why he would be there if Catherine were still alive. The next, he was in a double hotel room in Karachi with Damian thanking him for getting him away from the League, which was ridiculous because Damian’s reaction to getting pulled out of the League at that point probably would have been attempted murder.

He knew he was dreaming, but he couldn’t wake up. He tried pinching himself, jumping from the top of a skyscraper to his certain dream death, and trying to disrupt every wholesome family moment he found himself in, but nothing worked. He’d just move onto the next scene, or he’d find his body frozen and unable to move until he gave up on the idea.

Quite frankly, he would have preferred nightmares. He knew how to deal with nightmares. He didn’t know how to deal with glimpses of the sort of happy life he’d never be able to have. Or, at least, not in a way that wouldn’t get anyone hurt, including himself.

Eventually, he gave up and just went through the motions, smiling and laughing on cue and trying not to think about… trying not to think, period. Keeping track of time while in a dream required a lot of thinking, so he lost track of it.

So, he didn’t know long it was until he finally woke up again.

He was in space again, and his head was killing him. He almost wished he were dreaming again. Almost. Better the devil you know, and he knew headaches _very_ well.

“What happened?” he asked.

Fire burst from his hand, surging forth and forming a phoenix, though a thread of flame remained to tether them together.

“It is a matter best discussed elsewhere,” said the Phoenix Force.

As much as Jason hated doing as he was told without complaint, he _would_ really like to have some proper solid ground under him. As soon as the thought entered his head, his eyes closed of their own volition, and remained closed no matter how many times his brain ordered them to open.

When they finally opened, they were still staring at a sky full of stars, but he could feel dirt (and some pointy, uncomfortable rocks) beneath him. He turned his head, waited for the stars and black spots to fade, and took in his surroundings. It looked a bit like Mars, all sand and rocks and emptiness, except the sand and rocks were blue, and the parts bathed in the Phoenix’s light reflected it so brightly it almost looked like they were on fire. He would have appreciated the beauty of it more if it weren’t for… well… everything about this situation.

“What’s happening?” He meant it to be a demand. It came out more of a hoarse whisper.

“I have removed a threat to our experiment.”

Jason didn’t think he’d ever heard a sentence with such a high ratio of words that could each spawn their own lengthy, heated interrogation. “That isn’t an answer,” he growled.

“Yes, it is. It just isn’t one you wanted.”

“Then give me the one I want!”

“The one you want is not the truth. Do you still want it?”

Part of Jason was relieved to be back in familiar territory. The rest of him was pissed off about the familiar territory being the Phoenix Force being weird and cagey and infuriating _again._ “Just tell me what you did.”

The Phoenix hesitated for a moment. Then it said, in a tone that was monotone even by its standards, “The New Gods attempted to separate us. I refused. It escalated into a fight. They are now technically dead, though since the Black Racer was the first to die, there is nobody to guide their souls to the afterlife, and they will most likely take on new forms soon enough.”

That was definitely not on the list of answers Jason wanted. On the list of answers Jason didn’t want, it was pretty close to the top. It skyrocketed up the list when his brain cleared enough to remember one particular detail. “The fight started at the manor. Did you…” Fuck, if the words _Hurt anyone inside?_ came out of his mouth, they were going to be quickly followed by vomit.

Luckily, there was no need to say things aloud with somebody sharing your brain. “We left the planet before the fight began,” the Phoenix assured him. “Your family didn’t even notice what was happening until we were already gone.”

Jason ignored all the emotions squeezing his heart at somebody acknowledging Bruce and the rest as his family. “Are you seriously telling me the most paranoid people on the planet didn’t notice a bunch of gods showing up on their front lawn?”

“They were otherwise occupied.”

Right. They’d all been so caught up in worrying over Jason’s lack of memories and (from their perspective) possible destruction of an entire universe that they hadn’t noticed him get caught up in a whole new kind of trouble.

_An entire universe…_

Jason buried his head in his hands and tried to take some deep breaths. It didn’t help the nausea roiling in his stomach, and he swore he could feel his supposedly waterproof gloves getting damp from his tears. An entire universe. An entire fucking universe, full of countless innocent people and countless who might have been innocent, but still didn’t deserve to die. And for what? Because he got upset about the Phoenix Force killing somebody who wasn’t actually his dad and was trying to kill him?

It wasn’t his fault. It was the Phoenix Force. It could have stopped him. It could have just dissolved the weapon instead of the person. It could have just let him die, then bring him back. It could have… It could have…

A warm hand stroked his hair in an unnaturally steady rhythm. “I’m sorry,” the Phoenix Force murmured.

Jason couldn’t muster the energy to tell it to fuck off.

He sat there until he got sore, so he shifted into a fetal position and kept crying and trying not to throw up and blaming everything on the Phoenix Force. It was easier that way. It had spent billions of years not caring about people dying. It had a lot of practice.

When that thought entered his head, the hand in his hair dissipated, and he felt tidal waves of… _something_ roll off the Phoenix Force before it blocked him out and the hand reappeared as if nothing had happened.

Left to his own devices, he might have stayed there forever, crying and attempting to come to terms with something he’d never be able to truly come to terms with.

The universe did not leave him to his own devices.

Jason himself didn’t feel anything, but the Phoenix Force sure as hell did, and it either couldn’t or wouldn’t block him out again, so he felt it, too. Like so many things involving the Phoenix, there were no proper human words to describe it. It felt… draining. Like all the energy was flowing out of him. It also hurt. A lot.

There came a booming laugh so stereotypically evil that Jason would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t otherwise occupied not screaming or biting through his tongue.

“Thank you for making this so much easier, Phoenix.” It took Jason a moment to identify the voice, but when he did his veins flooded with icy dread cold enough to nearly overcome the fiery, draining pain.

With a series of jerky movements, Jason turned around to see Darkseid standing there grinning, pointing a vaguely familiar staff at him. Judging by the white flames coming off of Jason and into the staff, it was probably the thing causing his current discomfort.

“It is quite difficult to find ways to absorb the power of a being such as you against its will,” Darkseid continued, because he was a villain with the hero (as much as Jason counted as a hero) at his mercy and was legally obligated to monologue. He gestured to a strange, dark metallic substance wrapped around the staff like a snake. “This, for instance, would require a focus already attuned to you to work. I’d written it off as an impossibility. But then, you were kind enough to deliver one right into my hands, and defeat my most hated enemy in the process.”

Jason’s confusion didn’t last long as all the pertinent information came bleeding through from the Phoenix Force. It had given that staff to the Highfather so that he could channel its power when needed to defend the universe from threats to all life. When it killed him, it didn’t bother keeping track of what happened to the staff. Jason would mentally berate the Phoenix for being such a fucking idiot if he weren’t so busy trying to figure out how he was supposed to get out of this situation.

It was hard to think when Darkseid just kept fucking talking. “I am curious why you decided to attack them.” He waited a moment, as if the Phoenix Force would explain itself to him while it was getting painfully dragged out of its host. “Well, I suppose we can discuss this once I am your host.”

No more time for wondering why or how this was happening. The Phoenix was fading fast, so Jason had to act faster.

He checked to see if he could use his powers, and all he got was a bout of pain and light-headedness so bad he only stayed conscious through sheer force of will. So, no powers. Figures that all the times he wished he didn’t have them they stuck around, but now that he really fucking needed them, they peaced out. All he had was his own body, his wits, and a few weapons that would do jack shit to Darkseid.

But… maybe Darkseid wasn’t the one he needed to damage…

The staff had endured for thousands of years. It was probably too tough for him to do anything to before Darkseid realized what he was up to and killed him for good. There was a very good chance that the weird dark stuff on it was too tough, too, but it was the best chance he had.

Jason took a deep breath and found the balance between allowing the unfathomable stakes to motivate him and allowing them to overwhelm him. He’d made tougher shots before. And if he didn’t, or it didn’t work… Well. He knew there was a spot with a great view waiting for him on the other side.

_Phoenix, if you get the chance, tell my family I love them._

As fast as his pained muscles would allow, he drew a gun, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit, and the metallic substance shattered like glass.

Darkseid stumbled back, confusion quickly replaced by rage. Not quickly enough to stop the Phoenix Force from regaining its footing. For once, it and Jason were in perfect agreement. More than anything else, they both wanted Darkseid dead.

In a flash of light, he was gone. It was over. At least for now.

The adrenaline fled him, and Jason collapsed to the ground. He’d slept in less comfortable places than the ground of an alien planet, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired, so he closed his eyes and…

And felt warm talons gently take hold of him and lift him back to his feet.

“It’s not over, Jason,” said the Phoenix Force. “As things are now, it will never be over. Let’s change that.”


	37. Dark Phoenix Rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a suicide attempt.

Jason’s head was too hot and painful and tired to make any proper deductions, so he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you were right,” said the Phoenix Force. “I should have done something about the sorry state of this universe – _my_ universe – a long time ago. Now that I have seen it through mortal eyes, it is clear that mortals are incapable of managing it properly, and immortals have done little better.”

Jason gave it a confused look. He didn’t have the energy to do much else.

A sense of frustration bled through their mental link. “Words are not my forte,” said the Phoenix Force. “It will be easier to show you.”

Before he could object, it dragged him into the White Hot Room, opened his mind, and poured its own thoughts into it. Even by the standards of thoughts, they were incoherent. It made sense, he supposed. The Phoenix Force was probably billions of years older than the concept of spoken language. And like all thoughts, coherence didn’t really matter. All the rage, guilt, and determination the Phoenix Force was feeling were on crystal clear display.

It wanted to make the universe a better place. That was obvious. But he couldn’t quite understand the shape of the method it planned to use.

Since thoughts weren’t cutting it, the Phoenix switched back to words. “It would be roughly the same method that we used before. Sending those who would bring more harm than good to Death’s realm.”

It was the same, but also very, very different. Jason couldn’t quite understand why, though, so he just shook his head and thought, _No, no, that’s wrong._

“Why?” the Phoenix demanded. “What’s different? Isn’t this what you wanted me to do?”

Jason didn’t know why it was different. He didn’t know what he wanted. Everything was too _much_ for him to know anything, besides the fact that he just wanted this all to stop and go back to normal.

The Phoenix was really getting frustrated now. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! It will never stop! There will always be another threat, another fight, another innocent person getting hurt! That _is_ normal! The only way you can find peace is if we remove the source of conflict at its root.”

Jason couldn’t think of any arguments. He could barely think at all. Even so, he still felt certain the Phoenix Force had the wrong idea.

The Phoenix Force was apparently done with using words again, and switched to telepathy. To be fair, there really was no way to properly put into words the pain and misery of an entire universe. It seemed the Phoenix Force _could_ differentiate between all the voices making up the white noise, and with horrible accuracy.

Something inside Jason snapped. Several somethings. When he could finally think straight again, he still couldn’t, because his thoughts were a constant, unavoidable loop of _Make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop ma –_

“We will, Jason,” the Phoenix assured him. “And I know just where to start.”

They took off into space. Jason kept his eyes closed and tried to absorb the information the Phoenix broadcasted to him as they flew. Darkseid would eventually come back, just like the New Gods, so their best plan was to destroy as many of his resources as possible to make sure he caused the least amount of damage possible when he did. Most of those resources were on Apokolips. A planet shouldn’t be too hard to destroy, considering they’d already… already…

 _We can still do more good than bad,_ the Phoenix promised. _What happened to Earth-51 gives us all the more reason to do this now, and bring balance to the multiverse._

Right. If he didn’t do anything, all those deaths would be meaningless. That much tragedy had to have _some_ sort of meaning, some sort of positive change for the future. It had to.

_Open your eyes._

Jason did so, and found himself staring at a planet. Or, at least, that was what the Phoenix Force informed him it was. He’d never seen a planet with huge holes in it blasting out fire before. Then again, he shouldn’t have expected anything normal and non-evil-looking from Darkseid.

He felt the Phoenix Force ready itself to destroy Apokolips, but he also felt an absolute certainty that it shouldn’t do it yet.

The Phoenix sensed his hesitation and paused, sending a questioning thought shaped like _Why?_ his way.

It took him a little while to wrangle his thoughts into a somewhat coherent shape. The shape was something like _Shouldn’t we check for people who don’t deserve to die?_

The Phoenix sent a shape like _I doubt there will be any, but fine,_ and turned its telepathic gaze on the planet. Sure enough, there were thousands of prisoners, rebels, and minions who were one opening away from defecting. Jason would be smug if he weren’t so horrified that they’d been about to kill all of them.

He quickly pushed those emotions aside so they could get to work getting all those people off the planet. The Phoenix had no problem telepathically contacting them all at once, but it wasn’t so good at the whole actual communication thing. Jason had to take over before it gave somebody a heart attack. He wasn’t going to pretend he was very good at it, either, but at least he knew better than to open with, “The planet is about to be destroyed.”

There was still a lot of panic and disbelief, but Jason was reasonably certain at least most of them would make it to some spaceships and reach a safe distance before the Phoenix Force lost patience. Though now that he thought about it, the Phoenix had no excuse to lose its patience. It was billions of years old. Even if it took a week to get everyone off, that would probably feel like only a second to something that old.

A few mind reads showed there weren’t enough free ships on the planet to hold everyone, so Jason and the Phoenix would just have to free up a few more. It turned out to be a simple, if time-consuming, matter of coordinating their new friends to break into the hangars (or whatever space people called the buildings they stored their spaceships in) while Phoenix telepathically distracted the guards and telekinetically disabled all the anti-aircraft weaponry they had lying around to prevent this very thing from happening. On the plus side, the distraction would make it that much easier for everyone else to get out, and for Jason and the Phoenix to ‘liberate’ a few suddenly unsupervised ships.

It would have been very easy to lose track of time if all Darkseid’s minions weren’t so painfully aware of the time at all times. Their society was very big on the best example to your workers being one of their coworker’s heads hanging on the wall, and tardiness was one of the best excuses to redecorate. Therefore, he knew that from the time he started poking around in people’s heads it took him seven hours fifty-eight minutes and thirty-four seconds to get the last ship off the planet. Telepathy or not, organizing large groups of people took time. Frankly, he was just glad it took less than a day. He was also glad that the Phoenix Force seemed to be handling all the necessary bodily functions that couldn’t really be taken care of when floating around in space.

They did one last scan of the planet. They’d gotten everyone off they’d intended to, but… There were still so many that could have been so much better if they’d grown up literally anywhere else in the universe…

 _Perhaps they will reincarnate,_ said the Phoenix Force. _Regardless, death is inevitable for beings such as them. It will happen eventually. Is it not better for their deaths to bring peace to the universe?_

That… made sense. It was horrible and sick and twisted, but it made sense. And the afterlife wasn’t really that bad, was it? He managed to get somewhere pretty nice even though he’d let a guy fall off a balcony to his death. There was a chance for them.

As soon as Jason’s thoughts swayed into agreement, the Phoenix Force’s power surged through him. His vision maintained just enough color to see Apokolips dissolve into a cloud of pastel-colored dust, and then into nothingness. None of them felt a thing.

They may not have felt anything, but Jason certainly did. He felt a lot of things – horror, shame, guilt, disgust, self-loathing – with enough force to have destroyed another planet.

As it all washed over and threatened to drown him, the Phoenix Force whispered reassurances in his ear and wrapped him in what felt like a warm, fuzzy, full-body embrace. _It was necessary. They’re better off this way. It was the only way. We’ll make sure it was worth it._ Its voice was so similar to his own that eventually he couldn’t tell who was thinking what.

As such, he wasn’t sure who it was that first noticed somebody approaching. It was definitely the Phoenix Force that recognized them, because Jason sure as fuck didn’t know who they were until the information came through the link. It was, apparently, the current host of Ion, the personification of willpower and the power source of the Green Lanterns. Another fun fact that came through was that Kyle had been a previous host. He _had_ said something about knowing what Jason was going through. Looks like it wasn’t just bullshit.

It also looked like it meant Ion was super powerful, too, and its host was probably a lot more used to using its power than Jason was.

 _I don’t suppose we can just kill it?_ Jason asked.

 _It would not be conducive to our plans,_ the Phoenix replied.

 _God fucking damnit._ It was hard to tell who it was that said that. It didn’t really matter, because it was a sentiment they both shared.

They also both knew that trying to run would just be delaying the inevitable, and he already felt tired. Better to do it now while he still had some energy in him.

Ion arrived. Looking at him, one would think he was just another Green Lantern. Having weird life-bird powers, however, meant that Phoenix had sensed the power emanating from him lightyears away.

“Phoenix.” Somehow, Jason knew it was Ion speaking through its host. “What have you done?”

The Phoenix Force replied with Jason’s voice, “What is necessary to fix this universe.”

“The universe is not broken,” said Ion.

“Have you _seen_ it?” Phoenix snarled. “You have taken mortal hosts. You have seen it through their eyes. How can you believe this was all intended?”

“I believe that we cannot know the Presence’s intentions.”

Jason wondered what the Presence was, but the Phoenix was too focused on arguing to explain. “Then you cannot know that my actions are not intended. Destiny has yet to step in, so this is clearly written in his book.”

“Just because it is intended does not mean it is right, Phoenix. By your own logic, all the terrible things you wish to change were also intended.”

Jason felt his lips curl into the sort of childish pout he hadn’t worn since he was five years old. As immature as the gesture was, he could sense that the Phoenix Force wasn’t just upset about not being able to come up with a good argument. Underneath it was a ball of rage larger and hotter than a star, targeted at the Presence, at the being that the Phoenix had spent ten billion years believing in as its creator, only to suddenly realize that the universe it had knowingly, willingly created was so hopelessly warped and _wrong_. Jason knew that sort of anger very well, but he’d never really had anything to point it at other than the general, incomprehensible concept of the universe. And to his surprise, the Phoenix’s rage was also only worsened by the fact that there wasn’t anything it could do to punish the one behind it all. Some things were beyond even the Big Bang’s weight class.

And just like Jason, the Phoenix decided to deal with it by targeting someone who _was_ in his weight class.

It attacked without warning, but it did attack with some mercy, merely shooting a blast of fiery white energy instead of telling all Ion’s host’s atoms to go their separate ways.

Ion blocked it and demanded, “What are you doing?”

“You have made yourself an obstacle,” said Phoenix. “It will be easier for everyone if you remove yourself before I have to do it myself.”

Ion didn’t give any warning before attacking, either, and Phoenix blocked the attack just as easily.

Jason wasn’t very involved in the fight, partly because everything was too bright and hot and loud for him to think straight, partly because he didn’t have much experience in fights this big. No wonder the Phoenix Force put him to sleep before it fought the New Gods.

There were, however, a few moments where it was a very good thing that he was conscious this time around and able to spot openings the Phoenix missed. Powerful as it was, it wasn’t actually that great at tactics. It was too used to just vaporizing everything in its way.

There were also a few times where the Phoenix switched to telepathic attacks and Jason’s mind brushed up against Ion’s host’s mind. From what little he saw, he seemed like a pretty decent guy. He made sure to send some apology-shaped thoughts his way before the Phoenix switched tactics again and they lost contact. He kept helping the Phoenix kick his ass, though. Decent guy or not, he was in the way.

The fight wore on, and Jason slowly realized that the Phoenix Force was getting worn down. The attacks were getting weaker, the shields taking less damage, the white light of his energy blasts getting tinges of yellow and orange, and everything seemed to take much more focus and willpower than it did at the beginning of the fight. The Phoenix seemed as surprised by it as he was.

 _I have expended too much energy too quickly,_ it realized. Destroying a universe, a planet, and some of the most powerful beings in the universe all in quick succession would do that, Jason supposed. For once, he might not be able to brute force his way through as a last resort. As much as he’d hated that resort, suddenly not having it felt disconcerting and… and a little scary.

 _We must… refuel, so to speak,_ said the Phoenix Force. It gathered all the power it had left and used a significant chunk of it to hit Ion with enough force to send him flying about a galaxy away. That should buy them enough time to… to…

Jason couldn’t keep track of the Phoenix’s thought process as they flew through space again. It was too big, and fast, and he got the distinct impression that it was hiding things from him. What it couldn’t quite hide was the sense of stomach-churning horror, which slowly morphed into grim determination and a mantra of, _Great change requires great sacrifice._ Jason was too overwhelmed and tired to ask for explanation, and the Phoenix didn’t feel like giving one of its own volition.

Eventually, they came to a stop. Jason didn’t open his eyes again, because even with them closed everything was painfully bright. He felt the Phoenix carefully close their minds with an airtight seal, then he felt it…

Once again, Jason couldn’t truly describe the sensation. The closest he could come was the feeling he got when he absorbed Monarch’s power, but… less. He wasn’t drowning in it. It actually felt good. _Really_ good. Right up until he noticed the presence frantically clawing at their defenses. The Phoenix wouldn’t let them through, but the desperation and terror bled through. The sort of desperation and terror that only came from somebody who knew they were dying. It was a feeling Jason was far too familiar with, both through telepathy and his own experience.

Before Jason could push past his own horror and muster the energy to tell the Phoenix to stop, it was over. Everything was dark and quiet. He hesitantly opened his eyes and found a seemingly innocent sky full of stars.

“What did you do?” he whispered.

_What had to be done._

“That isn’t a fucking answer,” he hissed. “What. Did. You. Do?”

It hesitated, which was never a good sign. In order to further stall, it created a physical form for itself, still attached to him by a fiery thread that looked more like a chain than ever. When it finally had no choice, it said, “In order to replenish my power, I consumed a star.”

Jason’s overheated, overworked head needed a little bit to work through that. “Aren’t… aren’t the stars your kids?”

“Does it matter?” the Phoenix snapped. “We cannot let sentimentality prevent us from enacting true justice.”

Thinking straight had been impossible for a while now, but now Jason’s thoughts were going into Möbius strip territory. That is, going around and around on the same twisted path of _Oh God, oh God, what the fuck, oh God, what the fuck,_ with no hope of escape.

And as horrible and awful as the idea of the thing living in his head essentially eating its own child was, he could sense that there was more the Phoenix wasn’t telling him. Something even worse.

He used the burning feeling to forge his determination into a single point and asked, “What else did you do?”

At least the Phoenix Force didn’t bother hesitating this time. “There was an inhabited planet orbiting the star.”

Jason’s brain tried not to think through the consequences of that. It really, really tried. But eventually all his knowledge of supernovas and gravity and just how disastrous a sudden change of orbit would be came flooding in and pushed him toward the inexorable, awful conclusion.

Whatever parts of him that hadn’t snapped earlier now broke clean in half.

He could rationalize what happened to Earth-51 and put all the blame on the Phoenix Force. He couldn’t do that this time. Before, he’d been too overwhelmed by emotion to even realize what was happening. This time, he just… He just didn’t bother. He didn’t bother to take notice of the red flags, he didn’t bother asking what it was doing, and he didn’t bother trying to stop it. He couldn’t be bothered to look beyond his own tiredness and headache, and now a star and the population of an entire planet were dead because of it.

He couldn’t… He couldn’t risk that happening again. He couldn’t allow somebody like that to keep existing. He couldn’t live with that knowledge. He couldn’t… He just _couldn’t_.

Resolve or not, his hand still shook as it wrapped itself around the grip of his gun. Maybe if his self-preservation instinct hadn’t chosen that moment, of all moments, to rear its head, he could have gone through with it and stopped all this before he made things even worse. Or maybe it still wouldn’t have changed anything.

The Phoenix Force’s power flared, once again strong and easy but no longer quite so overwhelming, and the gun dissolved in his fingers. The flames once again wrapped around him in an embrace, as warm and comforting as it was tight and immobilizing.

 _We’ll make it mean something,_ the Phoenix promised.

 _Death is inevitable anyway,_ the Phoenix assured.

 _Don’t you see how much good we can still do?_ the Phoenix asked.

It just kept talking, in that voice so similar to Jason’s, and once again he lost track of which thoughts were his own. One such thought was the desperate desire for physical, tangible comfort. At first, Jason though it was his own. It was certainly a common enough thought for him, even if he never acted on it. But it didn’t make sense at that moment, because he was already getting a hug, even if it was a weird one. So, it had to be the Phoenix’s. But since when had the Phoenix wanted hugs?

Then again, since when had it wanted to help people?

Jason hesitantly lifted his arms to try and return the hug. The Phoenix Force obligingly made part of itself more solid to make it easier. It felt… nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually returned a hug. It was probably back during his first life. Before showing that sort of weakness made him worry Talia would materialize out of thin air and lecture him on it, but after showing that sort of weakness made him worry some stranger (or worse, somebody he knew) would materialize out of thin air and kill him for whatever he had in his pockets (or worse). So, it had to have been while he was with Bruce.

For a moment, thinking about that time didn’t hurt anymore. The present was so painful, everything else paled in comparison. For once, he could actually find comfort in happy memories.

Then he reached one of the memories about Bruce lecturing him on the importance of not killing anybody. How nobody had the right to be judge, jury, and executioner. How taking a life left a terrible mark that could never be healed. How there was always hope for somebody to turn things around and become a better person, and they couldn’t snuff out that hope.

That snuffed out the comfort pretty quick. And now he couldn’t even distract himself with righteous anger at Bruce’s stupid ideals, because he’d seen just what Batman would become without them.

 _You’re different,_ said the Phoenix Force. _He could not bear that burden, but we can. We must. And when we are done, we will never have to do it again._

Jason didn’t know whether or not to believe it, or what he could allow himself to feel without wanting to die again, or… or… He just didn’t know what to do.

_I do. Trust me, Jason._

Jason didn’t trust it. Not after it nearly destroyed Apokolips without bothering to evacuate anyone. Not after it decided to kill Bruce back on Earth-51. Not after billions of years of standing by and doing nothing.

He couldn’t stop it, either. If he had it in him to come up with an argument that would convince it, it would have already seen it and stopped. Maybe that was because he didn’t _want_ to stop it. Why would he? Wasn’t this what he’d wanted the Phoenix Force to do? For it to finally step in? What was he expecting? For a being with the approximate maturity of a four-year-old and power a god would envy to _not_ mess everything up? Especially one that had _him_ as a reference point for morality. It was his fault. If he’d been better, if the Phoenix Force had chosen someone better, then – 

His mind switched tracks, since the old tracks were a molten, broken mess. If he looked at it from the right angle, this was like when he came back to Gotham and became Black Mask’s rival. He couldn’t stop crime, so he decided to control it and make sure it caused as little damage as possible. He could use the same basic principle now. He could make sure the Phoenix did this the right way. If he thought of it that way, he could think about it without breaking.

He lowered his arms and willed the Phoenix’s flames to vanish. “What do we do next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized the date I'm posting this on. Err... Happy birthday, Jason! I guess my present for you is more pain and suffering. Also, sorry to that one commenter who hoped he wouldn't go Dark Phoenix. I think it makes sense in this story, but feel free to complain or ask for clarification.


	38. Soldier, Phoenix, Son

Much to her disappointment, Nightwing and the Flash decided against bringing Harley, Trickster, and Piper to the Justice League’s base. She didn’t have any plans on going up against them again, but you never knew when you’d have to resort to a life of crime again. Plus, knowing superheroes and their theatrics and aesthetics, it probably looked either really cool or laughably ridiculous. But, sadly, it was not meant to be.

She couldn’t even try and follow them to see where the entrance/teleporter/whatever was, because the Flash grabbed Nightwing and took off at super speed. He didn’t even have the decency to leave a trail of fluttering paper behind.

“So, who do you think they’re gonna send to pick us up?” she asked, leaning back as far as she could on a metal bench.

Piper paused his cleaning of his flute to contemplate his answer. “Well, Phoenix is in space, so I assume someone with a spaceship.”

“Right, because _that_ narrows it down,” Trickster grumbled.

“Actually, it does,” Piper snapped. “I don’t mean superheroes that can fly around in space on their own, I mean superheroes with actual spaceships. They might be able to breathe in space, but we can’t.”

Harley nodded in agreement and tried to remember who she’d seen on the news floating around in space and who she hadn’t. The Green Lanterns were off the table – unless they could use those rings to create a ship. But then what would happen if they got into a fight and had to use a different light-construct-thingy? Would the ship vanish, leaving the hapless passengers to death by explosive decompression. Superman wasn’t an option, either, unless one of his powers was extending a bubble of oxygen/atmosphere/all the things the human body needed to not die. Given how many powers he seemed to have, that was actually a possibility.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the beep of her communicator. She pulled it out and read the message. Whoever it was didn’t bother with any sort of introduction, instead just giving some coordinates. Harley tried not to immediately mark the sender down as an asshole. They were probably too busy and in a hurry for pleasantries. It was probably hard to remember all your pleases and thank yous when there was a giant, powerful space-life-fire-bird fighting the gods out in space.

“I’m hoping it’s Starfire,” said Trickster as they drove over. “She’s an alien, right? She’s probably got a ship.”

“Yeah, she’s got a nice…” Harley nearly zoned out thinking about all the things that were nice about Starfire, right at the moment another car put on their turn signal _way_ too late and merged into her lane. She slammed on the breaks and tried to steer her thoughts in a more wholesome direction. “Personality. At least, seems that way. From the videos and stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” drawled Piper. Even with her eyes on the road, Harley could tell he was rolling his eyes.

She shot him a glare in the rear-view mirror. “Oh, don’t act all high and mighty like your eyes weren’t superglued to Nightwing’s ass.”

Piper blushed and spluttered a few aborted attempts at arguments.

In a completely mind-boggling twist of fate, Trickster came to his rescue. “To be honest, I think we were all checking out his ass.”

Luckily, they reached a red light, so Harley was able to give him the confused stare he deserved. “Wait, are you telling me our little trio _doesn’t_ have a token hetero?”

Now it was Trickster rolling his eyes. “I’m straight, I’ve just got functioning eyes and the ability to appreciate aesthetic beauty.”

Harley shared a dubious look with Piper before she noticed the light had turned green and she had to go before an angry driver stuck behind her got out of their car to pick a fight with her.

Harley wasn’t good with GPS coordinates, so she was surprised to find that they led to the park. As soon as the feeling hit her, though, she mentally kicked herself for not expecting it. Where else was a spaceship supposed to land without crashing into any buildings?

They couldn’t drive through the park (at least, not without getting the police on their backs), so the car was abandoned in the parking lot as they went on foot. Harley tried not to think about how it might be the last time she saw that car. She tried not to think how this might be the last time she saw Gotham at all. Those thoughts she was definitely not having had nothing to do with the way she made sure to take extra notice of her surroundings as they walked. She was just enjoying the view, smog and sirens and all.

They arrived at the spot her phone claimed was the right location. The lack of spaceship suggested otherwise.

She pulled out her communicator and typed, _if ur 15 mins late can we leave?_

It only took about a minute to get a reply. _We’re on our way. Stay there._

It took about two minutes for the spaceship to appear, sleek and sci-fi looking and bright green. Harley could see why they didn’t want to wait around in a vehicle that screamed ‘Come check out what’s going on, random civilians!’ Sure, most Gothamites had long since learned not to investigate anything suspicious, but there were always some idiots that never learned until they were caught in the crossfire.

As soon as it touched the ground, a door opened and a ramp came down, because no way was anyone without superpowers getting through a door that high up in any way resembling dignified. It had never really hit her until now just how big a spaceship would have to be to have multiple people live in it and all the parts needed to make sure they didn’t die of starvation, asphyxiation, or all the other dumb ways to die there were in space.

Sadly, it was not Starfire standing in the doorway to greet them. Happily, though, it _was_ Troia, who also had a very nice… personality.

“Come on in, we’re in a bit of a hurry,” she said in the harried voice of someone several lightyears past ‘in a bit of a hurry’. She walked out of view before any of them could ask why she suddenly had a spaceship.

The inside was a much more subdued shade, which Harley’s eyes were very grateful for, but it was all still variations on green. She followed the sounds of Troia’s footsteps, as much to complain to whoever was responsible for the interior design as to help avert the apocalypse.

Eventually, they arrived in what appeared to be a cockpit, and a Green Lantern was sitting at the metaphorical wheel.

“Since when did Lanterns need ships?” asked Trickster.

“Usually we don’t,” said the Lantern. Harley recognized his voice as the same Lantern from earlier. “But we’ve got a few for cases like this where we need to transport people who _do_ need them.”

Harley took a seat and made herself comfortable. As comfortable as she could, at least, because in addition to terrible decorating whoever designed this ship apparently used rocks for cushions. “So, where are we going?” she asked.

“To the last place Phoenix was spotted,” said Troia, as Lantern hit all the buttons and flicked all the switches needed to take off.

Trickster’s eyes darted around the cockpit. Harley thought he was looking for an escape route until he said, “Uh, no offense, but do we have anyone with a bit more… firepower? Athena said this guy could destroy the planet.”

Troia’s jaw clenched hard enough to make Harley worry about her dental health, and Lantern jerked the controls in a way that made the ship let out a very worrying groan.

Trickster’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit, did he actually…?”

Troia took a deep breath before she spoke. “He destroyed an entire universe. And now he’s destroyed a solar system. Our sources think he consumed the star as fuel.”

Now Trickster was _definitely_ looking for an escape route. Harley was, too. Going up against someone who could theoretically destroy a single planet, and had already shown the restraint not to, was one thing. Going up against somebody who could eat stars for breakfast was an entirely different, much less pleasant thing.

“What’s the plan, then?” asked Piper.

“If all goes well, we don’t have to do anything,” said Lantern, in a tone that suggested he did not think all would go well but really, _really_ hoped it would. “We’re just on standby in case he can’t be talked down.”

“He destroyed a universe, and you’re trying to talk him down?” asked Trickster incredulously.

Troia glared at him. “Yes. He said it was an accident, and I believe him. His heart’s still in the right place, so there’s still a chance we can deal with him peacefully.”

“Riiight,” said Harley, pulling out the kris. “That’s why you’re so intent on havin’ this thing on hand. To help remind him of the power of friendship or whatever angle it is you’re going for.”

Troia’s glare faltered. “Like he said, if all goes well, we won’t have to do anything.”

Harley sighed and leaned back in her seat. She could tell that needling them about it more wouldn’t go well. They _probably_ wouldn’t shove her out the airlock, but they might just shove her into the cell a Green Lantern ship would definitely have.

Well, if they were either going to be sitting around doing nothing for a long time or sitting around doing nothing until they all died horribly, she was going to do the fun sort of nothing. “What’s the wifi password?” she asked, pulling out her phone.

“Do you honestly think a spaceship meant to transport aliens would have wifi?” Troia asked.

“Uh… yeah, actually, it does,” said Lantern. “It doesn’t have a password. Have at it.”

* * *

Making the universe a better place was easy, once you were capable of and not squeamish about brainwashing and killing people. Many of the people on the planets Phoenix went to didn’t need any help to be decent people. Many more just needed a few telepathic adjustments, and as far as Jason was concerned that was a far lesser crime than allowing innocent people to get hurt. Many others, however, would need their personalities completely rewritten to be anything other than a sack of shit. Phoenix wasn’t stupid. Even with the Phoenix Force’s power, he was not infallible. Things could go wrong. And if the third sort of people were abruptly un-brainwashed, things would go south fast.

Phoenix removed them from the equation. Permanently. Brainwashing them that severely would basically be killing their personality anyway, what was the difference?

Easy as it was, it still took time. Time where more people were getting hurt.

“Couldn’t you do this all at once?” Jason asked, eyes closed as they flew to the next planet.

_I could, but you could not. It would require reading all the minds in the universe at once, which would overwhelm you too much for you to guide my judgement. If you trust me to do it myself, I can –_

“No,” Jason snapped. “I don’t trust you.”

A complicated tangle of emotions bled through the link, with enough negative ones to make Jason feel guilty about hurting the Phoenix’s feelings, which was ridiculous, because he _should_ be feeling guilty about –

No. He couldn’t feel guilty about those things. If he felt guilty about those things, he’d never be able to feel anything else.

“Not your judgement, at least,” he amended. The Phoenix Force would be able to sense that he trusted it with his life. He just wasn’t sure he could trust it with the lives of others.

The emotions detangled themselves, and Phoenix got back to work.

Said work got a little harder once opposition showed up. It seemed word had gotten around about someone going around brainwashing planets, and said word did not include the part where he was doing it for their own good. He went up against Lanterns of various colors, warships, alien races he didn’t know the name of, and one entire fleet of warships that stretched as far as his eyes could see. He could have tried explaining himself to them, he supposed, but that would take more time than just neutralizing the well-intentioned ones and eliminating the ones who weren’t. Each second he wasted was a second an unfathomably huge number of innocents were getting hurt. He’d rather waste as little as possible.

It became routine and, quite frankly, boring. If the Phoenix couldn’t break through their mental defenses and knock them out (which was very rare), it had no problem breaking non-vital body parts until they got knocked out anyway. There wasn’t really much point in Jason even being awake, apart from telling the Phoenix who it shouldn’t kill. No need for clever mortal tactics. Sheer blunt force was more than enough.

As effective and time-saving as it was, it was also quickly becoming one of the most tedious things he’d ever done, and he knew how dangerous that could be. When you got bored, you stopped paying attention and let things slip past. In this case, the things that might slip past were innocent lives he didn’t notice before the Phoenix brainwashed or killed them.

The human brain wasn’t designed to crunch numbers on the astronomical scale, but Jason suspected that the number of people his boredom would get killed might just be higher than the number that would get killed if he took a couple moments to shake things up a little while he fought. It was still a far cry from the thrill he remembered, but it kept him from zoning out and getting sloppy.

His mind was still dull enough, though, that when two new presences came in range it took him several moments to recognize them as Superman and Martian Manhunter. He froze up so completely that even the Phoenix Force was incapable of moving.

He was still frozen by the time they came into view and got in speaking range.

“Jason?” said Clark, tentative and concerned and all sorts of things that made Jason’s stomach twist itself into knots.

Jason’s mouth, at least, become unfrozen. “If you’re here to stop me, let’s get it over with.” He couldn’t muster the energy to make his voice sound anything other than completely exhausted.

“We only wish to speak with you,” said J’onn.

Jason shouldn’t speak with them. He should just ignore them and move on to the next planet. He didn’t have any time to speak with them. He shouldn’t speak with them. He shouldn’t. _You shouldn’t, Jason. Let’s go._

He was still frozen, no matter how hard the Phoenix tried to melt the obstruction away. “What about?” he asked.

“About what you’re doing,” said Clark. “Could you please explain it to us?”

Jason couldn’t find the words, and with J’onn’s mind firmly closed off he couldn’t send the thoughts directly either, so he asked, “What do you think I’m doing?”

“You appear to be brainwashing and killing people en masse,” said J’onn. “Having read your mind before, I cannot imagine what could have motivated you to do such a thing.”

Maybe it was pure anger, or maybe the Phoenix Force wasn’t fighting for control quite so hard now, but Jason found the energy to let out a laugh so harsh it hurt his throat. “Are you fucking kidding me? You can’t figure it out? You saw all the shit that happened to me, all the times I prayed for _somebody_ to look past their own problems and save me, all the times I was too late, and you can’t fucking imagine what could have motivated me to make sure that never happens to anyone else?”

He didn’t need to focus on their minds to see the sense of dawning realization on their faces. “This isn’t the way, Jason,” said Clark gently.

“This is the _only_ way,” Jason snarled. “What does your way do? Give people a few more years of getting screwed over by life until they get killed by the people you consider beneath you, or one of the people you refuse to take down for good because a clear conscience matters more to you than innocent lives?”

“Innocent lives such as the D’Bari?” asked J’onn. As always, he wasn’t very emotive (probably had something to do with his entire species being telepathic), which meant he must be feeling _very_ disapproving for it to show in his expression.

Jason frowned. D’Bari? What was –

 _He is referring to the race inhabiting the planet destroyed when we took that star’s power,_ the Phoenix Force explained, as helpful as it was horrifyingly matter-of-fact.

“That wasn’t me,” said Jason. “That was the Phoenix Force.”

“And was your current course decided by the Phoenix Force as well?” J’onn pressed.

Jason shouldn’t have let them talk. He should have listened to the Phoenix and flew away, because now he was being reminded of the fact that he was listening to the Phoenix on matters he really, _really_ shouldn’t be, and he really, _really_ didn’t like it.

“It chose it, but I’m staying it,” he said aloud, refusing to let his doubts show.

Clark and J’onn gave each other a look that communicated a message as surely as telepathy. Jason wasn’t privy to that message, but he quickly figured it out when Clark pulled out some sort of speaker and Bruce’s voice came out of it.

“Jason,” he said. It was astonishing how with a single word he had Jason frozen solid again, like a robot waiting for the next command. “I understand why you’re doing this.”

Jason stared at the speaker. He should leave now. Bruce had nothing to say that he hadn’t said before. Killing is wrong, you’re not thinking clearly, you’re letting your anger control you, I understand why you’re doing this BUT blah blah blah. The little Bruce that lived in Jason’s head had already said it all, and he hadn’t convinced him to stop, so he doubted the real one would be any different. There wasn’t any point to listening. It would just waste time. He should go.

**_Just go, Jason._ **

His head hurt, his heart hurt, everything hurt, and he knew it would all hurt less if he just moved, but there was something hard and heavy in his chest weighing him down like an anchor, keeping him perfectly still no matter the storm raging against him.

“Really,” he drawled, and damn it, he was crying again. Why was he crying? What was the point? He had to be better than this. If he was going to change the universe, he couldn’t be the old, broken, emotional Jason. He had to be stronger. Better. Less… human.

_We can be human when the work is done. Now let’s **go.**_

Jason stayed.

“You’re doing this for the same reason you’ve done everything in your life,” Bruce continued. “To help people.”

Jason laughed harshly again, this time with a watery edge to it that would have been embarrassing if he had the mental capacity for anything besides his rage. “Is that still how you see me? A good soldier? I was never a soldier. I was just…” His voice faltered, and his resolve faltered with it. Maybe if it had just been him and Bruce, he would’ve felt free to scream at him about how he was a traumatized child, and Bruce should have treated him like one instead of swinging wildly between treating him like an insubordinate soldier and treating him like a perfect, well-adjusted son. But right now, Clark and J’onn were staring at him like he was a car crash they couldn’t bring themselves to look away from, and the words refused to come out.

_Go now. There is nothing here for you but pain._

“You’re my son,” said Bruce. “Whatever my mistakes, whatever you’ve done, whatever has happened to you, that is still true. So, please, tell me what is happening.”

Jason knew what Bruce was doing. He didn’t have enough data to formulate a proper plan of attack, so he was trying to gather more by playing the part of concerned father. The worst part was that it wasn’t just an act. He _was_ genuinely concerned. Judging from the tremor in his voice, he was downright terrified for Jason. It would have been easier for Jason to deal with if he just didn’t care. It would have allowed him to not play along.

“I’m fixing the universe,” he said. “And the parts I can’t fix, I’m eliminating.”

“Is it you doing this, or the Phoenix Force?” Bruce asked.

“Both.” The word came out as a strange mixture of Jason’s and the Phoenix’s cadences.

Bruce paused for a moment. It seemed he hadn’t expected that answer. He’d probably deluded himself into expecting it to be all the Phoenix Force’s fault, and not sweet little Jason’s, who only ever wanted to help people, including that time he attacked and nearly killed his brother, apparently.

When Bruce spoke again, his voice was carefully monotone. “And who was responsible for Earth-51?”

Jason nearly gave into the Phoenix’s urging and fled then and there. Nearly. That anchor was still firmly attached, chain wrapped around his chest painfully tight. As he tried to figure out how to breathe again, he considered how much to say. Eventually, he decided on all of it. His lingering Robin programming was probably responsible for that obvious lapse in judgement.

“You,” he said, because the only bit of joy he could find in this situation was imagining the face Bruce made in response. “The version of you from that universe. Or maybe Monarch. Or… I don’t know. It was all so…”

He paused to take a breath and calm down a little. He could feel a fire burning inside him and straining for release, and that wouldn’t end too well for Martian Manhunter. He would have to focus on the facts, and not any of the memories and emotions attached to them.

“Monarch attacked. I was distracted, so I didn’t notice a version of Superman attack him and rip his armor open until it was too late. I absorbed all the nuclear energy it released so it wouldn’t cause any damage, then I vaporized Monarch’s remaining forces. That Batman saw me as a threat and tried to kill me. The Phoenix Force killed him in self-defense. I lost control and…” At that point, his throat closed up so tightly he could barely breathe, much less speak.

He kept his eyes and mind firmly shut so that he couldn’t see Clark or J’onn’s reactions. He couldn’t close his ears, though, so he heard Bruce say, “You’re right. That was the fault of the other me, not yours. I know you’re not just a threat. I don’t want to hurt you. Just come home so we can talk about this.”

Jason’s eyes burned with tears. The rest of him burned with pain, guilt, and rage. “No. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been said. You think nobody deserves to die. I disagree. It’s that simple.”

“Nothing about this is simple,” snapped Bruce, fatherly concern giving way to the familiar anger of a self-proclaimed commander not being obeyed. “Come home. Clearly, you and the Phoenix Force need to be separated until you can both think clearly.”

The Phoenix grabbed the wheel and shoved Jason out of the driver’s seat. “Thinking clearly will not fix the universe,” it said, in that same calm tone it only seemed to use when it was furious. “When we are finished, we will return and be able to rest. All of you will finally be able to rest. Whether you agree with my methods or not, I _will_ make sure you reap the benefits.”

Before Bruce could say anything to make Jason agree with him or the Phoenix Force lash out and disintegrate everything in the parsec, Phoenix telekinetically crushed the speaker.

Superman shoved the remains back into one of his invisible Kryptonian pockets and said, with puppy-dog eyes and a tone on Alfred levels of guilt-inducing, “We don’t have to fight, Jason.”

“Indeed, we don’t,” said Phoenix. “Just stand aside and let me do my job. I’ve honestly lost count of how many versions of you I’ve defeated, Clark.”

Clark opened his mouth to object, or give another heartfelt plea that wouldn’t work, or something else. Whatever it was, it never came to be, because J’onn did the math and figured Superman, whose powerset Jason was already experienced in neutralizing, and himself, whose powerset was nearly identical to Jason’s aside from shapeshifting that wouldn’t do much good against a telekinetic shield and a crippling weakness to fire, and said, “Superman, I think it is best we retreat for now.”

“But –“

Clark took his eyes off Jason, and Jason took the opportunity to fly away as fast as possible.

 _We’re doing this for them,_ the Phoenix Force reminded him. _When we are done, they will have the peaceful, happy lives they deserve._

It was right. It had to be. If it wasn’t…

It was right. This was the right thing. There was no alternative.


	39. I Hate to Leave, I Have to Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for suicide.

Harley considered herself pretty good at reading people. She had to be, to have survived living with the Joker for so long. Even during the worst of her delusional obsession, she realized there were some times when Mister J was best left alone.

So, when Troia walked into the lounge (or whatever it was called in spaceship-speak) with _that_ look in her eyes, she knew something was up.

“Don’t panic,” said Troia. Harley wondered whether saying that had ever, in the history of the universe, actually worked. “But you should all get ready for a fight.”

“Talking didn’t work, huh?” said Trickster, opening a pouch and examining it as closely as a soldier might check their gun. “What a shock.”

“It still might not come to a fight,” said Troia, in a tone that suggested she wasn’t even convincing herself. “And if it does, it might not come down to us.”

Harley rolled her eyes. “You realize that you just jinxed it, right? Now it’s _definitely_ going to come down to us.”

“Just meet us in the cockpit, all right?” Troia snapped. Before anyone could make any more quips and get her even angrier, she turned and stormed away.

Harley shoved her phone back in her purse, and tried to shove her trepidation in there, too. She gave her hammer a twirl to check that it was still properly balanced and tried not to think about how useless it would be against Phoenix. She made sure the kris was still in her pocket and tried not to think about how the fuck they were supposed to get close enough to use it. She definitely didn’t think about how even if they did get close enough, they also had to make sure the Phoenix Force wouldn’t fight back. Basically, she made her brain a No Thinking Allowed zone.

Unfortunately, just like every other sign forbidding things, it didn’t work.

“I don’t suppose either of you knows how to pilot an escape pod?” she said.

Trickster paused his inspection of one of his boots to visibly mull it over. “It can’t be that different from driving a car, right?” he asked.

“Yes, it can be,” said Piper. “If you two want to go get lost and starve to death, be my guest, but at least leave the kris behind.”

Harley knew reverse psychology when she heard it. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t work, though. Or maybe she’d known from the start, deep down, that she was in this ‘til the bitter end, even if it was as bitter as that old lady down the street who complained to the HOA every time anybody had any modicum of fun.

Trickster didn’t look like he’d come to the same conclusion, and if they were going down, they were all going down together, so Harley chirped, “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll probably last long enough to get rescued if I eat Trickster.”

“Hey, how come I’m the one getting eaten?” Trickster objected.

“Because you’re bigger than me, so you’ll provide more food, and since I’m smaller I require less, so it’s the most logical choice,” said Harley matter-of-factly.

Trickster narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You seem like you’ve put way too much thought into this.”

Harley shrugged. “I read Life of Pi in solitary confinement. Not a good combination.”

“Well, if I’m dying either way, I’m going with the option that _doesn’t_ eat me.” Trickster put his boot back on and took a few experimental steps that went vertical rather than horizontal. Harley was very confused for a moment before she remembered they were his super-special anti-gravity boots.

Piper blew a few notes on his flute that had Harley freeze and zone out so quickly she got metaphorical whiplash. Apparently, that was the desired effect, because Piper smiled at his flute like it was his firstborn child winning their first soccer game before he put it away and got to his feet. “All right, then, let’s go.”

They got to the cockpit without any of them realizing what a terrible idea this was and jumping in the nearest escape pod, regardless of the likelihood of cannibalism.

As soon as she walked in, Harley asked, “So, are you guys gonna give us some details, or should I just give myself a heart attack over a worst-case scenario?”

Troia and Lantern glanced at each other and came to a silent agreement. Lantern said, “Well, the good news is that Phoenix definitely has good intentions and is trying to help people, so there is still a chance we can get through to him.”

Harley wasn’t going to grace that pathetic display of comfort with a reply. Not even a sarcastic one.

“The bad news is that the person most likely to get through to him failed, and he’s trying to help people through brainwashing and murder.”

“So, basically, the good news is completely negated?” said Trickster.

“Not completely,” Troia insisted. “The one who tried talking him down can be a little…” She trailed off with the thoughtful frown of someone trying to think of a nice way to phrase an insult.

“He can be a little bit of a massive asshole,” Lantern finished.

Troia gave a sort of half-shrug to communicate ‘I do not necessarily agree with that statement, but I can’t argue with it, either’ and said, “His success was never guaranteed.” Her expression darkened. “And neither is ours, so we should come up with a plan of attack.”

“How about running away?” Harley offered. “That sounds pretty good to me.”

“If he wanted you dead, I doubt running would help,” said Troia. “Could you explain how exactly the weapon you made works?”

Harley shrugged. “I dunno any of the exacts. The creepy old lady just said it’d only separate Phoenix and the Phoenix Force if the Force didn’t fight back.”

Lantern hissed out a swear.

Piper sighed. “Skip the good news this time and tell us what’s wrong _now_.”

“I don’t see the Phoenix Force not putting up a fight,” Lantern explained. “From what Phoenix said, it was getting weird and clingy even before it started actually controlling him.”

“Wait, it’s controlling him now?” asked Trickster. “Why are bothering with talking things out, then?”

“It seems like it isn’t in complete control,” said Troia. “Neither of them are. Martian Manhunter thinks they’re… melding. They’re still not totally in sync, though. If we’re able to get Phoenix to resist, we just might stand a chance.”

Harley nodded. Divide and conquer. Made sense. “We’ll leave that part to you,” she said. “Unless you want Piper to try and bond with him over Sweeney Todd or something.”

Lantern let out a slightly hysterical chuckle. “Hey, it’s worth a shot.”

“I really don’t feel like a musical about a man killing people to enact his own twisted idea of justice is the best thing to talk to him about,” said Piper.

“Any other ideas?” asked Trickster. “Hopefully ones that don’t involve me?”

Troia glared at him. “We need all the help we can get. Even from you.”

Trickster pouted, but Harley could tell he’d given up even before he said, “Fine. So, if you _do_ get some internal struggle happening, is that gonna stop him from vaporizing us?”

“I think you’re the only one who has to worry about that,” said Lantern. “He seems to only be using lethal force against total scumbags.”

“Define total scumbag,” said Trickster, a little nervously.

“Well, for what it’s worth, _I_ don’t think you’re a totally irredeemable piece of shit,” said Harley. “He’s a telepath, right? Just try to think nice thoughts if he turns up, like… uh… how much you love your mom or something.”

Trickster’s expression darkened, and for a moment it seemed he couldn’t think of anything to say. The moment did not last long. “All right, happy thoughts to avoid getting vaporized. Great. Any other great plans?”

Troia looked down at the silver lasso hanging from her belt. “I could try using this. If my willpower is stronger than his, it would end the fight then and there.”

Piper spoke for all of them when he said, “But…”

“But I’m not sure that my will is stronger. He’s always been too stubborn for his own good.”

Before Harley could ask what she meant by ‘always’, Lantern let out a hiss of pain and clutched at his head.

“What’s wrong?” Troia asked.

“He spotted us,” Lantern grunted. “Or sensed us or… whatever.”

Harley let out a nervous laugh and looked at Trickster. “Well, hey, he didn’t immediately vaporize us! Yay!”

“Yay!” Trickster agreed, equally hysterical.

“What did he say?” Troia asked.

“He… didn’t really _say_ anything,” said Lantern. “It was all just thoughts and feelings. The general idea seemed to be ‘If you want a fight, I’ll give you one’.”

“Gee, that’s comforting,” Piper half-laughed, half-squeaked, joining the About to Explode With Nervous Energy Club.

Troia looked out the window as dramatically as only a superhero could. “I assume he gave you a location?”

Lantern nodded.

“Then let’s go.”

Harley forced herself not to clench her hammer too tightly. It would just make fighting with it harder.

The flight lasted far shorter than it felt. They all spent it trying to come up with strategies that didn’t solely depend on luck, divine intervention, or Phoenix having an abrupt and nonsensical change of heart. They didn’t come up with any.

The engine of the spaceship was quiet enough that Harley didn’t even realize it was there until it stopped, leaving them in a silence as oppressive as any regime. The planet wasn’t anything special, at least as far Harley was aware of other planets. Just yellowish-brain dirt and rocks as far as the eye could see. The sky was blue, at least, which she supposed meant there would be breathable air. How thoughtful of Phoenix.

Speaking of Phoenix, Harley was pretty sure he was the figure standing in the distance. It was hard to tell, since he didn’t seem to be wearing a helmet, but she couldn’t think of any other human-shaped beings that had any business being here.

They all got out of the ship in silence. Nobody could think of anything to say. Not anything suitable, at least. Or maybe it was just Harley considering asking for a group hug. It was probably just her.

Phoenix had his back to them as they approached, like any self-respecting Gotham crime lord would. It was definitely him. Harley spent a lot of time staring at photos of him, so she had his silhouette and costume practically memorized. The only difference was that now she could see he had black, messy hair.

Once they got in earshot, Troia and Lantern stopped. Harley, Trickster, and Piper stopped, too.

Phoenix paused (presumably for dramatic reasons) before he turned around to look at them. The first thing that Harley noticed was just how young he was. Sure, she’d never thought he was an old man or anything, but holy shit, he looked like he should be in college, not running around being a vigilante or cosmic threat. No wonder his behavior was so erratic. If Harley had superpowers when she was that age, she’d probably be brainwashing people, too, and definitely not for the greater good.

He gave a cocky, very human smirk as his eyes flitted to the pocket she had the kris in. “So that’s the plan, huh?” he said. “And it really had to be something with sentimental value? Way to twist the knife.” He let out a mirthless chuckle.

The looks the five of them exchanged sent a very clear message, and that message was _Fuck._ They shouldn’t have expected to keep secrets from a telepath, but still, _fuck_.

“We don’t want to have to use it,” said Troia soothingly. “Just come with us back to Earth so we can all sit down and talk about this. If you can convince us you’re doing the right thing, we’ll leave you to it. We’ll even help you. Just talk to us.”

Like a switch, Phoenix’s smirk turned into a scowl. “Let me guess. Batman is one of the people I have to convince.”

Troia opened her mouth to object, or argue, or explain, or whatever angle she was going to go for.

Phoenix held up a hand before she could try. “No, don’t bother. Telepathy, remember? Which means I also know that I’m not gonna convince him of jack shit. You’re just stalling. We all know how this is gonna end.”

“We don’t have to fight,” Troia insisted.

Phoenix tilted his head in thought. “No, we don’t. I could just knock you all out right now and go on my merry way. But…” The smirk returned, cocky and threatening and still all too human. “I’m feeling pretty bored. I could use a distraction. And the countless people that suffer and die because you distracted me will be on your consciences, not mine.”

Troia’s expression looked like she still believed there was another way.

Green Lantern did not, and he made it clear when he summoned a big green gun and shot a blast of energy at Phoenix. Phoenix dodged out of the way without any apparent need for superpowers, smirk turning into a grin.

Trickster sprang into action next, taking flight and tossing something at Phoenix too fast for Harley to see what they were. She did, however, see them explode in a flash of light that made her eyes water from this distance, and would probably leave Phoenix blinded for a second or two. A second or two that Harley could use to close the distance and start swinging with her hammer. She wasn’t going to try anything with the kris unless she was absolutely certain it would work.

Phoenix winced and squeezed his eyes shut when the flashbangs went off, so clearly they worked. Unfortunately, his immediate response to getting blinded was to tuck and roll, rudely avoiding her hammer swing.

It did, however, give Troia enough time to pull out her lasso and wrangle Phoenix with it. She could make a good career in rodeos if the whole superhero thing didn’t work out.

“Jason, for once in your life, stop and let people help you!” she snapped.

_Jason._

Phoenix – _Jason_ – grabbed the lasso and yanked it hard, throwing Troia off balance and allowing him to throw it off. Looked like he was too stubborn for it to work.

Harley didn’t pay as much attention to the fight as she should have after that. She kept swinging, Trickster kept throwing stuff, Lantern made weird green energy shit, Troia tried to punch, and Piper played music and ear-splitting high notes that did not help with focusing. And Phoenix kept dodging, or blocking, or just completely ignoring their attacks.

Instead, Harley found herself assembling a puzzle in her head. _Jason._ It could just be a coincidence. Statistically speaking, it was probably a coincidence. Jason was a pretty common name. But nothing else about this had been coincidence so far, so why would it start now? The highly-trained vigilante who had killed the Joker and knew Batman and Nightwing very well was named Jason. The Robin that had been killed by the Joker was named Jason. Bats were well known for their dramatics, and what was more dramatic than a dead bird coming back as a phoenix?

So. Phoenix was Robin. Harley could work with that. No, she _had_ to work with that. Who knew when the Phoenix Force might decide it needed to refuel again and deemed billions of innocent lives an acceptable cost? She had a degree in this shit. She could convince Jason to use all that willpower to hold the Phoenix Force back a second while they gave him a papercut.

She tried to find a balance between scouring her memory for every scrap of information she could use to create a profile, and keeping up the fight. She didn’t do a very good job and got a kick to the stomach that was definitely telekinetically enhanced, knocking the wind completely out of her and sending her rolling across the rocky ground. She could tell it was going to bruise like a bitch, and the scrapes and cuts already stung like one, but she couldn’t let it distract her. She had to use the reprieve to complete the script. She didn’t know how long she had before Phoenix decided he’d been distracted enough and left.

Harley tried to catch her breath and watched the fight carefully, waiting for an opening. She found one when Piper paused to breathe, Trickster was rummaging through his pouches looking for his next trick, Lantern was frantically scribbling in a glowing green sketchbook, and Troia had also gotten knocked to the ground, all at the same time.

“You were Robin, right?” Harley called out. “The second one?”

Everyone turned to look at her, confused. Harley glared at her allies, doing her best to silently communicate that she didn’t want any of them trying to take advantage of the distraction and attack.

“Yeah,” said Phoenix, expression darkening. “The one your boyfriend killed.”

“I know,” said Harley. “Thanks for returning the favor. If you hadn’t… I dunno if I’d’ve ever gotten away from him.”

Phoenix blinked. He seemed surprised. Had nobody ever thanked him for killing the Joker? Yeah, sure, Batman wasn’t about to give him a pat on the back for it, and it didn’t seem like he’d told anybody about it, but… No, actually, it made perfect sense that nobody had ever thanked him for it.

She felt like she was on the right path, so she got up to her feet and continued. “You seem like a pretty decent guy.”

Phoenix’s surprise turned to annoyance. “So everyone keeps telling me.”

“Along with a big fat ‘but’, right?”

“You say that as if you aren’t going to do the exact same thing.”

“You say _that_ as if you haven’t read my mind and don’t already know what I’m going to say.”

“I don’t, actually. Knowing every move before your opponent makes it takes all the fun out of a fight.”

All right. That was a weight off Harley’s mind. If Phoenix had read her mind and not immediately agreed to her idea, it would’ve meant that trying to convince him was useless. Now there was a chance. A very slim chance, and the weight on her mind was still heavy enough to fill her with sympathy for Atlas, but it was there.

“Okay, yeah, there’s a ‘but’, but I bet it’s a different but than the but everyone else has been sayin’ to ya. They’ve all been like ‘You’re a decent guy, but you’re misguided’ or whatever, right?”

Phoenix nodded, eying her curiously. She got the distinct impression that his curiosity could very easily turn to annoyance, and annoyance could turn to vaporization.

“Any of them tell you you’re a decent guy, but you’re also a fucking idiot?”

Behind Phoenix, Harley could see her allies gaping at her in horror. Phoenix himself just looked amused. “Nope. Can’t say they have.”

“Well, they should’ve. How long does it take you to ‘fix’ a planet?”

Phoenix frowned. “It’s… hard to keep track.”

“Okay. For the purposes of my argument, let’s say it takes you ten seconds per planet, and one minute to travel to the next one. How many planets are there in the universe?”

Something changed in Phoenix’s expression. It was a small thing, but it gave Harley the impression that she was watching a robot attempt to imitate human emotion. “Approximately ten septillion.” The voice was different, too. Was Harley talking with the Phoenix Force itself now? Great. Just great.

“Great. Now, I’m not that great at math and I think you smashed my phone so I can’t use the calculator app, but I’m pretty sure one minute plus ten seconds is seventy seconds, and if you multiply seventy seconds by ten septillion, you get seven-hundred septillion seconds, and if you divide that by sixty…” Shit. Harley couldn’t divide that by sixty. She knew she should’ve paid more attention in math. “I dunno, but that seems like a whole lotta seconds. Hope there wasn’t anyone you wanted to see again before they died of old age.”

Phoenix’s face became human again, and clearly her words had struck home. “I…” His eyes unfocused, and his next words were murmured so quietly that Harley nearly didn’t hear them. “You promised we’d go home when we were finished…”

He changed right back to alien mode, this time wearing an unnervingly blank mask. “It does not matter. As a human, Jason requires breaks, and we can spend those breaks with his family.”

“You mean the Bats? Yeah, I’m sure they’ll _love_ to have you over while you’re on vacation from committing mass murder.”

“They can be convinced,” said the Phoenix.

Well, that was ominous and terrifying as fuck, but Harley couldn’t let herself dwell on that, especially when it was such a great segue. “And that brings me to my second point. You, Mister Fire-Incarnate-Or-Whatever, have some seriously fucked up morals. How would you judge somebody else who decided to brainwash their host’s family and completely overrule all their personal codes and rules? Because if you’d just let them be, you’re a hell of a hypocrite.”

Jason wrested back control, and he did not look happy. “That’s why I’m here. I’m not going to let it brainwash them. I’ll…” The anger was still in his face, but now it was joined by pain, heartbreak, and grief for a future that could never be. “I’ll be fine. As long as they’re happy, that’ll be enough.”

Well, that was so sweet it made Harley consider going for a gentler approach for a second. Then she remembered that everyone else had tried the gentle approach and it got them squat, so she shook it off and said, “No, it won’t be. You seem like a good kid, but you’re still human. Even if you’re better than the Phoenix Force, you’ve still got flaws. And I’m willing to bet you’ve got a lot more flaws than most humans.”

Jason scoffed. “Trust me, the average human is a lot more fucked up than you realize.”

“That doesn’t matter, because you’re not average.” All right, time to go into straight-up conjecture and hypotheses without any proper proof. “You’ve gone through a lot of shit. The sort of shit that leaves a permanent mark. It isn’t fair, and you didn’t deserve it, and you’re dealing with it better than most would in your shoes, but there’s a piece of you inside that’s broken, and it’s never gonna be fixed. You learn to live with it and work around it, but it’s always gonna be there. You’re never gonna be able to show the Phoenix Force how that piece is supposed to work properly, and you’re never gonna be able to create a perfect universe, because you can’t imagine one.”

Jason’s face as her speech went on made it clear that she’d guessed right. She remembered what the Joker had said about Robin #2. How he was scrappy and brutal and so much more fun than the first, which was why he had to die. No kid got that violent from a happy childhood. Add in a brutal murder and years of possession, and you got… well… this.

However, her last sentence seemed to have pressed the wrong button, making him very unhappy in a much angrier way than just moments earlier. “Actually, I _can_ imagine one. And I’m going to see it through.”

Harley held up her free hand placatingly. “Easy there, big guy, I should’ve phrased that better. I’m sure you can imagine the general idea just fine, but what about specifics? A lot of people are going to get out of work if you remove everyone’s urge to be mean. Soldiers, police officers, lotsa doctors and social workers, therapists, you get the idea. How’re they all gonna make a living?”

Jason opened and closed his mouth a few times before lapsing into a frowning silence. Clearly, he hadn’t thought that part through. He hadn’t thought a lot of things through. As a Bat, that was probably a very disturbing realization.

Harley decided to strike while the iron was hot. “The universe is a shitty place. We all know that. But you aren’t the one who can fix it. I don’t think there’s any one person that can do it.” She pushed her fear aside and pulled out the kris. “So, let’s just give you both some time to think this all over by yourselves, okay?”

In an instant, his face went back into full, blank, alien Phoenix Force Mode, and Harley realized she’d fucked up. The iron wasn’t hot enough. It was too soon to mention separating them.

Luckily, she didn’t have any time to beat herself up over her mistake before she felt a fiery presence envelop her mind and shove her down into deep, dark unconsciousness.

* * *

Hartley should have known better than to get his hopes up. Did he really expect Harley to succeed where people Phoenix actually knew and cared about failed?

Phoenix telekinetically summoned the kris to his grip before Harley hit the ground, basically negating every last one of their strategies.

“Fuck,” Trickster hissed.

While Hartley debated whether or not his agreement with the sentiment outweighed his dislike of agreeing with Trickster, Green Lantern took advantage of Phoenix’s distraction to use his ring to drop a windowless, cartoonish portable prison cell on top of his head. Obviously, Phoenix was able to get out, apparently by telekinetically digging underneath and popping back up out of the ground. Troia and Trickster jumped back into the fight, too.

Hartley hesitated. What was there he could do? If he cranked up the hypnotic effect of his flute any more, it was going to make his allies completely useless, and judging by how unaffected Phoenix had been so far it would probably just give him a clear path to knock Hartley out, too. The high notes seemed to work on him, but they also affected his allies just as much, and he doubted he could run in and wrestle the kris away from him before he snapped out of it.

There wasn’t anything he could do. He was the one that convinced Harley and Trickster to stick around and help, and now he had to just stand back and helplessly watch everything unfold. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. There had to be _something_ he could do. But what? It wasn’t like he could talk Phoenix down. Harley already did way better than he ever could, and she still failed. What did he have up his sleeve, a discussion over the significance of the repeated use of the _Dies irae_ in Sweeney Todd? He’d always been better with music than he’d been with words.

He stared down at his flute. Wait a minute… Maybe there _was_ something he could do. It was stupid, and probably wouldn’t work, but at least he could say that he tried.

He quickly went through all the songs from Sweeney Todd. Anything from Sweeney was pretty much immediately off the table, because Phoenix didn’t seem in the right state of mind to realize that despite being the main character he wasn’t actually in the right. Mrs Lovett wasn’t a very good role model, either. Neither was Judge Turpin. Or Pirelli. Or the Beadle. Or… Okay, maybe Sweeney Todd wasn’t the best source to draw from for this.

Maybe Phoenix was into other Sondheim stuff? If he got pissed off at Green Lantern mixing him up with Webber, he must. The first musical that popped to mind was Into the Woods. That one had morals and shit, right?

Trickster got a bit too close to Phoenix and received a kris to the boot for his trouble, sending him tumbling to the ground in a battered, grumbling, wincing heap. Hartley turned away and closed his eyes. He had to focus.

Into the Woods, Into the Woods… Giants in the Sky? No, not applicable enough. I Know Things Now? No, it would be too easy for Phoenix to see himself as the heroic Baker and the evil of the universe as the Big Bad Wolf.

He heard Green Lantern let out a scream, and Troia call out, “Kyle!”

_Come on, Hartley, think!_

No One is Alone? Yeah… Yeah, that could work. Dealing with loss and feeling alone and realizing that even so-called villains had good points and loved ones? It was the best he was going to think of before Troia got put out of commission, too.

He turned back around, disabled the hypnosis components of his flute, kept his eyes firmly closed, took a deep breath, and started playing.

For the first few bars, it seemed that all he accomplished was looking like a complete idiot. Beneath the music, he could still hear the thuds, thumps, and grunts of combat. He kept playing, because he didn’t know what else to do.

_Mother isn’t here now  
(Wrong things, right things)  
Who knows what she’d say?  
(Who can say what’s true?)_

He couldn’t exactly sing the lyrics while playing flute, but he suspected Phoenix had them (and the general timing) memorized, because that was the point where the sounds of combat began to grow fainter and slower, until finally they stopped.

_People make mistakes  
Fathers, mothers  
People make mistakes  
Holding to their own  
Thinking they’re alone_

Hartley dared to open his eyes. Troia was still up, clutching at her arm and looking between him and Phoenix with a combination of confusion and hope. Phoenix stared at him with an expression so complicated and conflicted it hurt to look at, seemingly transfixed. At the very least, Hartley didn’t seem to be making anything worse, so he kept going.

_Things will come out right now  
We can make it so  
Someone is on your side  
No one is alone_

He let the last note hang longer than he should. Part of him was afraid that, now that the song was over, Phoenix would snap out of it and go back to business as usual. He lowered the flute and waited with bated breath.

* * *

The Phoenix wanted to take control again.

 _It’s just a song,_ it told him. _I can play it for you as many times as you want. Let’s go._

Maybe if it had just been the song, Jason would have listened. But Harley’s words were still bouncing around in his head, drowning the Phoenix out.

She was right. He was broken. He’d been broken for a long time, and nobody could put him back together. Somebody _should_ do something about the universe, but… it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.

 _She’s wrong,_ the Phoenix insisted. _I don’t want somebody perfect and moral, Jason, I want you._

It wouldn’t let him go, he realized. And he wouldn’t be able to keep it at bay much longer. It would wear him down, and they’d keep hurting people and coming up with a million excuses to justify it. He couldn’t let that happen.

He stared down at the kris. Somehow, he knew that it would only work once. It would allow him to shove the Phoenix out, but there was nothing to stop it from just forcing its way back in. The only way to stop it would be if Jason… wasn’t there anymore. Somehow, he knew that if he did this right, it wouldn’t be able to bring him back this time.

He adjusted his grip on the handle so that the blade was facing him, not his opponents.

He’d thought about doing this so much. Sometimes, he’d imagined doing it with this exact kris. Funny that only this time he could barely think of anything besides all the reasons he had to live. He wanted to see Bruce again. Apologize to him. Tell him he loved him, and he knew Bruce loved him too. He wanted to say that to Alfred as well. He wanted to talk about Artemis Fowl with Tim. He wanted to have that talk with Babs about keeping secrets. He wanted to pull pranks with Dick and Stephanie. He wanted to help guide Damian into becoming a somewhat functional human, and scream at Talia for screwing him up so much. He wanted to meet Cass. Fuck, he wouldn’t even get to _meet_ her. He wouldn’t… He wanted…

_I wish  
I know_

It wasn’t fair. But life was never fair.

It was basic math. One life that had long been prepared for its end, and more than deserved it, or another few billion the next time Phoenix needed to refuel?

Donna seemed to realize what was happening. She ran toward him, arm outstretched. She wouldn’t reach him before the Phoenix wrested control back.

No time for doubts. No time for last words.

He tried to smile. He could give her that, at least. _It’s okay. This is my choice. This is my only choice._

He plunged the kris into his neck at just the right angle to sever the spinal cord, killing him instantly.

A pale hand, a gentle smile, and dark, kind eyes greeted him.


	40. Extinguished

Jason Todd had been dead for twenty-six hours, and Damian still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

There was certainly a good amount of grim amusement and frustration at the fact that the ‘brother’ he wanted dead the least died first. His mother always assured him that Todd would not stand between him and his rightful title. With the right words, he might even help Damian claim it. Why couldn’t it have been Drake or Grayson?

Another part of him felt fascinated by the wildly different yet equally profound varieties of grief he was witnessing. Such open displays of compassion and emotion were frowned upon in the League of Assassins, so this was his first experience with it.

Father had just… shut down. Damian hadn’t seen him since he learned the news. According to Pennyworth, he had locked himself in Todd’s room and not said a word beyond refusing to leave, despite the butler’s best efforts to convince him. Damian had approached the room only once. He left without knocking when he heard a sound that was difficult to interpret as anything other than weeping. Batman did not weep. Damian refused to believe such a thing, much less see it for himself.

He had no such illusions about Grayson. He couldn’t, after he could barely stop his sobs long enough to choke out the news to him. After that, he quickly left again, though Damian could still feel his presence through the texts he sent what seemed like every five minutes, asking if everything was okay. Damian tried ignoring them at first, but that just resulted in Grayson coming back within half an hour in a panic, then lecturing him for another half an hour on how important it was to reply to messages like that, then leaving again. Where Father had shut down, Grayson had gone into overdrive, including his paranoia, it would seem. He was simple enough to deal with, at least. Simple one-word responses were more than enough to placate him.

Pennyworth was in some ways the easiest the deal with, and in others the most difficult. After disappearing for a few hours, he had gone back to business as usual, at least on the surface. Damian was fairly certain that he was cleaning far more vigorously than usual, and sometimes he caught him frozen staring at a seemingly random object. Damian asked why he was looking at it only once. The response was that it had been Todd’s favorite armchair. He suspected that all the other objects were likewise tied to him, and did not ask about it again. In addition, he was nearly as overbearing as Grayson, which made it all but impossible for Damian to take advantage of the situation and sneak away to do some proper training.

The best solution, Damian found, was to stay in semi-public rooms such as the theater or library where Pennyworth could easily spot him and ascertain he had not spontaneously combusted without barging into his room. Considering his current habits, he might just take the opportunity to try and tidy up, and then he might just find one of the weapons hidden throughout.

Pennyworth was in the lounge with him, dusting, when he received another text. He pulled out his phone, fully expecting it to be yet another message from Grayson. That was instantly disproven when he saw the text was in Arabic. He made sure to keep his expression completely neutral as he read it.

It was from Mother, complete with codewords to confirm it was truly her and she was sending it without duress. She wanted to meet with him. The spot was just outside the manor grounds. As soon as Pennyworth left to work his grief away somewhere else, it would be simple enough to sneak out and speak to her without anyone noticing, so long as they were brief.

He refused to acknowledge the foolish, juvenile part of himself that wanted to talk with her as long as possible and tell her everything he’d done since they’d last spoken. If he told her enough things, surely she would praise him for at least one of them, yes?

“Is something the matter, Master Damian?”

Curses. Pennyworth was far too perceptive for someone of his station.

Damian tossed the phone to the other side of the couch with a convincing scowl. “Only Grayson’s ridiculousness.”

Pennyworth was silent for the moment. By the time Damian turned his head to look at him, he’d already schooled his face back into its usual pleasantly calm expression. “I’m afraid there will be quite a bit of ridiculousness for the foreseeable future. He simply wishes to make sure you are safe.”

Damian scoffed. Under different circumstances, he would argue that he was more than capable of keeping himself safe, and even if he weren’t, if Grayson truly wanted to protect him, he wouldn’t be able to do it half an hour away. Right now, however, he considered it more important to get away as quickly as possible, so he merely glared at Pennyworth and picked up his book again.

He was too distracted to take in more than a few words at a time, and as the time and excitement dragged on, he gave up on reading and instead stared blankly at the pages, turning them when he felt like enough time had passed. He was about three page-turns from just leaving and hoping Pennyworth didn’t follow him when he finally left the room. Once Damian was certain he was truly gone, he opened the window and climbed out of it.

For someone of his skills, a building made from old, weathered, uneven rocks was easy to climb down. With Father out of commission, Grayson and Drake absent, and Pennyworth otherwise occupied, he was reasonably certain that nobody would be looking at the cameras to spot him. Still, he made sure to hurry to the meeting place. No need to tempt fate.

Mother was waiting for him, typing on a phone with a frown. Her eyes seemed oddly red and puffy, but perhaps it was simply a trick of the light, or explained by her being busy and not getting enough sleep. She couldn’t have been crying. Mother didn’t cry. Especially not over a fool that had spurned everything she had to offer him.

“Hello, Mother,” he said in Arabic. It felt nice to finally be able to speak a language that made sense. Father was competent in Arabic, and willing to speak in it when Damian wished, but his poor accent was infuriating enough to make English more preferable, nonsensical rules and pronunciation and all.

“Hello, Damian,” she replied, finishing up whatever she was writing and putting her phone away. “I trust you have been well taken care of?”

Damian scowled. “The butler has no idea how to season food properly.”

Mother gave a small smile. “He is British, I’m afraid that is inevitable. And if that is the greatest of your complaints, I am glad.” The smile faded. “How does your father fare?”

Damian shrugged. “I haven’t seen him. He’s locked himself in Todd’s room and refuses to leave.”

Mother’s gaze drifted to the manor, as if she could see through the walls to see for herself. “I see. He has not reacted as badly as I feared, then.” She paused, jaw clenching slightly. From her, that meant a great deal. “Will there be a funeral?”

“I don’t see why,” said Damian. “Troia said there was no body, so there is nothing to bury.”

Mother looked back at him in a way that would have made him take a defensive step back earlier in his training. “What do you mean, there was no body? Did they not use the kris?”

It took a great deal of concentration for him to not stutter as he said, “I don’t know. They’ve barely told me anything.”

Mother took a deep breath and relaxed again. “I see. I’ll have to ask Quinn about it myself.”

Damian nearly asked her what she was talking about before he remembered that this was Mother he was talking to, not Father or the others. Asking Mother questions unprompted was rarely acceptable, and she was clearly already on edge. Better to stay silent and wait for her to leave an opening.

“Perhaps it is better this way,” she continued. “It’s certainly better for your father to be mourning over a room than a corpse.”

It took Damian a moment to understand what she meant, and when he did, he had to suppress a shudder. Given Father’s current state, he might have sat staring at Todd’s body slowly rotting until it was completely unrecognizable, and even then, he might not be able to tear himself away. Damian wasn’t sure why the thought was so upsetting. He’d seen dead bodies before. What difference did it make when the body belonged to somebody he’d only met twice and exchanged very few friendly words with?

“Why did you never introduce us?” He didn’t know where that question came from. It certainly couldn’t have come from him, because he didn’t care. He must have been temporarily possessed. But wherever it came from, it had been spoken aloud, and Mother heard it.

She looked at him coolly as she decided on the appropriate response. Eventually, she settled on, “I was always aware that there was a high chance of him turning against us and leaving. If he knew of your existence, he would have no doubt attempted to take you with him.”

“Why would he?” Damian asked, utterly confused by the notion. Even with powers, it must have been difficult for him to escape without being caught and killed. Bringing along another person would have only made it more difficult, especially one that did not want to leave.

“Because he was soft,” said Mother. Usually when she said that about someone, it was clearly an insult. Now, however, it was almost… wistful? “He believed children should be coddled and protected, rather than being taught to protect themselves. He would not stand for a child to go through our training, especially one he would consider his brother.”

Damian scoffed. “He does… did not consider me his brother. A brother would not carry me about like a sack of potatoes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have been keeping up with your history studies, yes? Have you not seen how often brothers are at each other’s throats?”

“Then why would he have tried to ‘save’ me from the League?”

“Relationships are never entirely good or entirely bad, my son. For all that Jason mocked and disrespected you, I have no doubt he would have…” Her expression fell, and when she spoke again her voice was strangely thick. “Never mind. My point is, introducing you two to each other would have done more harm than good. There is no use dwelling on it now.”

“Is that why you came here?” he asked. He bit his tongue before he added, ‘For him, not me?’ Of course she’d come to make sure Father was capable of taking care of her son in his current state, or at least Pennyworth could. Why would she be here to talk about Todd? She couldn’t be, not after all those years of her assuring him that blood was what truly mattered, and Damian was the only true son.

“Among other things,” she replied. Her eyes got the far-off cast they always did when she was thinking about a mission. “I have a promise to keep.”

He ignored the way his heart sank. “I assume time is of the essence, then.”

“I’m afraid so.” She smiled at him and opened her arms, inviting him to hug her.

He quickly overcame his surprise and accepted the invitation. She must have already gotten started on her mission, because it had clearly been a while since she’d reapplied her perfume, and he could pick up the ever-so-slight scent of blood and sweat.

After a few moments she dropped her arms to her sides again, signaling that the hug was over. He let go and stepped back.

“Will you come back soon?” he asked.

“Only fate knows that,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He turned around and didn’t look back. There was no point. She would already be gone.

He didn’t go back to the lounge. Pennyworth had no doubt noticed his absence, though hopefully it hadn’t been long enough for him to think it was anything more than him just going somewhere else in the manor. For example, his bedroom, which he already knew from experience was childishly easy to climb up to and enter through the window.

Or, at least, it _would_ be easy if the blasted window wasn’t locked.

Why was it locked? He always left it unlocked during the day for situations such as this. Had he forgotten this morning? No, he couldn’t have.

He knocked on the frame a few times with his fist, hoping it was a simple case of dislodging it. It was not. And the noise did not go unnoticed.

The window opened, and Cain (who was not supposed to be here, and he was entirely justified in not expecting and preparing for) waited just long enough for him to recognize her before she grabbed him and pulled him safely inside.

Once he was on his feet, she pulled a phone – _his_ phone, which he’d completely forgotten in the lounge – out of her pocket and handed it back to him.

He turned it on and found a message from Grayson, panicking over his lack of response. Again. He quickly typed _I’m fine_ and sent it before he came back again.

The moment he was done, Cain asked, “Where?”

“Where what?” Damian snapped. Maybe if he refused to understand her, she’d get so frustrated she left him alone.

“You,” she said, poking him in the forehead too quickly for him to react you. “Where were you?”

“I went out for a walk,” he lied. “This place feels like a mausoleum. I wanted some fresh air.”

Cain looked him over in that way he absolutely hated. The way that felt like she could see through his physical body and into his soul, which she might as well be.

“Talia?” she asked.

Damian couldn’t catch himself before he got flustered, and by then it was far too late.

Cain’s expression hardened. “Still here?”

“No,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. Mother was no longer at the manor. Cain didn’t have to know that he knew that she meant ‘Is she still in Gotham?’

She gave him a look that made it clear she knew that he knew what she meant. She closed the window and firmly said, “Stay here. Stay safe. Don’t make Bruce sadder.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Damian grumbled.

Cain could tell that he would obey regardless of complaining, however, and gave him a big smile. “Show me drawings later?”

“No!” Damian snapped, cheeks growing hot. “And I did not _show_ them to you, you snooped through my notebook without permission!”

Her smile widened. “They’re too good not to show.” Once again, she moved too quickly for him to defend himself or retaliate, patting him on the head like a toddler before sweeping out of the room.

Damian quickly checked his hiding place and found his notebook undisturbed. Seemingly, anyway. He put it in a different hiding place just in case.

* * *

Steph’s joy at seeing Cass’s number show up on her screen was quickly muted when she realized why she was probably calling her.

She accepted the call and asked, “How’s everyone holding up?”

“Bad,” said Cass. “And Talia’s here.”

Steph swore and went to her closet, digging through her clothes with one hand while the other held her phone. “Can you define ‘here?’”

“In Gotham. She checked Damian, then went away.”

Steph found her costume and pulled it out of the pile, shaking it to make sure it hadn’t picked up any dust or mothballs or whatever. “I suppose it’s too much to hope she’s just here to check on her kid?”

“Yes,” said Cass bluntly. “Look for her. Don’t engage without me.”

Normally, Steph would be annoyed at Cass yet again inadvertently insulting her abilities. Yeah, sure, she was nowhere near Cass’s level, but nobody was. She was pretty damn good in a fight. But pretty damn good probably wouldn’t be good enough against someone like Talia, so she just said, “Yes, ma’am. Roger that. Any idea where I’ll find her?”

Somebody spoke in the background, too quiet and staticky for her to understand. She did, however, understand Cass saying, “Alfred says check Harley.”

“Harley?” Steph repeated, because mishearing that word was a lot more likely than Talia al Ghul having anything to do with Harley Quinn. As far as she knew, the League of Assassins considered Batman’s other enemies beneath them and didn’t interact with them too much. And if they were going to deign to speak to any of them, Harley was probably at the bottom of the barrel, especially since she seemed to be trying to turn a new leaf. Kind of. It was still kind of a rotten leaf, but less so than the old one, and that had to count for something, right?

“Yes. Talia might be mad about Jason.”

It was the first time she’d heard his name since the news dropped. She was surprised by how much it hurt. She’d only met the guy once, after all. Even if he knew Spongebob memes and had some hilariously ridiculous ideas for teen drama plots. She wasn’t the one that should be sad here. Cass was able to say his name just fine, and she was his sister, even if they’d never met.

How unfair was that? Steph got to meet him, and Cass, his actual sister, who’d been so happy to hear that he was alive, who deserved all the family she could get, never did and never would. Unless he came back again. It was easier to think about him if she just worked under the assumption that he’d come back again. Superheroes were like cockroaches, and Jason was like one of those irradiated super cockroaches from Fallout. Some cosmic shenanigans would probably happen and bring him back.

Still, better not to say those thoughts out loud. It worked for her because she didn’t _really_ care about him. If Bruce got it into his head that there was a chance to bring him back, he’d never let it go, and the odds of him getting himself killed were way higher than him succeeding.

She shook herself. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. Especially when the rest of the sentence was so confusing.

“Why would she be mad about Jason?”

“No one told you?” Cass asked.

“Well, clearly not, because I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steph snapped. Part of her frustration was at everyone forgetting to let her know about something important yet again. The rest of her frustration was at her shirt for refusing to be pulled over her head with one hand.

Cass paused, probably trying to find the right words to convey the information. Magical brain adjustment or not, she still struggled with that. “Talia found him after he came back. Trained him. They bonded. She might want revenge.”

The shirt finally came off, but her joy was once again squashed, this time by more confusion. “What do you mean, ‘bonded’? Talia doesn’t seem like the bonding type. Neither does – _did_ Jason, honestly.”

“I don’t know,” said Cass. “Just check on Harley. Wait for me.”

“All right. You got an address?”

Cass rattled it off with only two pauses.

“Okay. See you there.”

“See you.”

Changing was a lot easier with two hands, and soon enough Spoiler was ready to crash an assassin party.

Harley’s place or whatever the address was wasn’t too far from her apartment (one of the perks of still living in a bad part of town, at least for people that frequently punched the people that made it bad), so Steph grappled over instead of stealing a car or motorcycle.

She stopped on the rooftop opposite the address. It looked like a regular, mostly legitimate apartment building. She pulled out some purple mini binoculars and scanned through all the windows she could see. There were obviously far too many people either unaware or uncaring of the fact that anybody at the right height across the street could see what they were doing, but Steph had gotten pretty used to that over the years of stakeouts and investigating, so she didn’t pay it much mind.

There. Sixth row, fourth window to the right. A blonde woman with blue eyes accentuated by redness from crying, staring miserably out at the world, bottle in hand. Not exactly a unique sight in Gotham, and Steph didn’t know Harley well enough to recognize her without ridiculous makeup, but it was at least worth a shot.

She shot a grapple, did the sort of mental calculations that came so easily in the field and hard as a stallion on Viagra in school, and swung over so that she hit the wall next to the window, bracing herself with her feet and only slightly wincing from the force.

Harley (or whoever she actually was) stared at her, apparently trying out the theory that if you blink enough times the world will make sense. She quickly got over it, opened the window, waved the bottle in a way that would’ve spilled half of it if it weren’t almost empty, and slurred, “C’mon, guys, can’t a gal get drunk and brood in peace? I figured you Bats would be a lil’ more sympth… sympateth… a lil’ more nice!”

“You’d think so, but Batman can be a gigantic hypocrite when it suits him,” said Steph. “You mind if I come in?”

Harley shrugged. “Normally, no, and I’d whack you for tryin’, but I think a squirrel could beat me up right now, so you do you.”

She was clearly too drunk to have a conversation on double negatives, so Steph climbed on in and retracted the grappling hook. Harley retreated to her couch, grabbing a fuzzy blanket and pulling it over her head.

“I’m actually kinda here for a reason,” said Steph. “You might be in trouble. Do you know Talia al Ghul?”

“Oh, FUCK!” Harley scrambled to her feet, which was not a good combination with being wrapped up in a blanket and resulted in her crashing to the floor. It didn’t stop her from talking, though. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , I fucking knew I was fucking forgetting something, fuck!”

“Uh, care to explain what you’re talking about?” Steph asked.

Harley glared vaguely in her direction. “Why’re you here if you don’t already know?”

“All I know is Talia’s in town and she apparently liked Phoenix, so she might be after you.”

Harley let out a hysterical laugh. “Forget might, she’s _definitely_ after me. She promised.” Her eyes widened and darted around the room. “Oh, fuck, she’ll be after those two idiots, too. Where’s my phone?”

Steph realized that Harley probably wasn’t going to be giving any coherent answers any time soon and shelved her questions for later. “You can worry about them once we’re sure you’re okay. Does she know where you live?”

“I didn’t tell her, but she’s a weird ninja person like you, and you know, so yeah, probably.”

Steph took hold of her arm and helped her to her feet. “Then we should get out of here. You got any supervillain friends you can crash with that won’t kill me on sight?”

“Need phone,” Harley muttered.

Steph had no idea if that meant she understood and needed her phone to contact them, or hadn’t heard a single word and was just repeating previous sentiments. Either way, she plopped her back down on her couch and searched the apartment for a phone.

Through sheer, raw detectiving skill, she found it and handed it over to Harley. She unlocked it and stared blankly at it for a few seconds before holding it back out to Steph. “Either the numbers are all in the wrong order, or I need some help. Call Red.”

Steph took the phone, found Red (along with a bunch of hearts and kissy-faces) in the contacts, and put it on speakerphone, because she didn’t trust Harley to get all the information across.

Ivy picked up on the second ring. “Looks like I win the bet,” she said smugly.

“I’m not callin’ you ‘cause I’m lonely!” Harley argued. “I’m callin’ ‘cause the sexy assassin lady wants me dead!”

Ivy took a moment to translate. “Talia al Ghul? Why does she want you dead?”

“’Cause I couldn’t save Phoenix.” Harley’s eyes drifted back to Steph. There was a far-off glaze to them that made her think she wasn’t the one Harley thought she was talking to. “I tried to. Really, I did. I didn’t want him to die. I’m sorry. I’m –“

Steph interrupted her. “I know, it’s all right. You can apologize all you want once we’re sure you won’t be dead in five minutes.”

“Who is that?” Ivy asked, the warmth instantly gone from her voice.

“It’s Spoiler. Hi. Don’t worry, as long as you guys don’t kill anyone in front of me, I’m not looking to put anyone in Arkham today. Except maybe Talia.”

“You’d better,” Ivy growled. “I’m on my way. If Harley’s dead when I get there, you’ll be next.”

She hung up without another word.

Steph took a deep, calming breath, or at least as calming as she could manage when it felt like her heart was pounding on her lungs like a metal drummer. Cass and Ivy were both on the way. Once they got there, Talia wouldn’t stand a chance. But she had no idea how long that would take, and even a minute could be more than enough time for both her and Harley to get a knife stuck somewhere vital.

She helped Harley back to her feet. “Please tell me you can run.”

“I can try,” said Harley brightly.

And try she did. They did technically manage it for a few steps, but Harley was so uncoordinated and unbalanced that she fell over three times in one minute. They settled for powerwalking, with Steph keeping a firm grip on her arm while she sent a text to let Cass know which direction they were heading in.

They made it a couple blocks before Steph just barely heard the slightest of whooshing sounds and her training took over, grabbing Harley and throwing both of them onto the ground just in time to avoid a shuriken sharp enough to bury itself in the brick wall behind them. Honestly, it was an old building and probably pretty shitty brick to start with, but still definitely not the sort of thing you wanted near you.

She scrambled back to her feet and found Talia had spontaneously materialized in front of them, glaring in that cold, emotionless way that was way scarier than normal rage.

“This doesn’t involve you,” she said. “Leave now and you will not be harmed.”

Steph let out a _hmm_ and scratched her head in thought, hitting the emergency alert on her comm while she was at it. “Tempting as it is to stand by and let people get killed on my watch, I’ll have to turn you down. Sorry.”

Within the span of a blink, Talia had closed the distance, and Steph just barely managed to dodge the swing of her knife. In fact, ‘Steph just barely managed’ was a pretty good summary of the fight. It was all she could do to not die, much less get any sort of advantage. She did manage to get a couple hits in, which was nice, but it was pretty thoroughly negated by all the hits she received. She was definitely gonna have some bruises she couldn’t just cover up with a turtleneck, and she’d _definitely_ have to stop by the Batcave to make sure none of the cuts were poisoned. It might just be her imagination making her vision fuzzy at the edges, but better safe than sorry.

Finally, just as she was resigning herself to the idea of waking up in a hospital bed, if she woke up at all, a familiar bat-shaped silhouette blotted out the sun and descended like the angel Cass was, kicking Talia to the side before she landed.

As Talia got back to her feet and surveyed the new situation, Cass pointed at Harley and then over her shoulder, clearly saying to make their escape. Steph nodded in understanding and did so, refusing to acknowledge how her entire body was screaming complaints about how it could barely handle just her own weight, much less someone else’s.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, Poison Ivy came into view, flanked by big, crawling snapdragons.

“Pam!” Harley called out, pushing away from Steph and stumbling into Ivy’s arms.

Ivy hugged her back and glared at Steph over her shoulder. “Where’s Talia?” she asked.

“Batgirl’s handling her,” said Steph. “She might have brought some lackeys, though, so you should probably skedaddle.”

Ivy nodded in understanding, and maybe an unspoken promise to take things a bit easier next time they fought (that might’ve just been wishful thinking, though, or poison), and released her hold on Harley enough to pull her along.

Harley resisted and turned back to Steph. “Tell Bats… Tell him I’m sorry, okay? I tried. I tried really hard. I didn’t want… I was just trying to help.”

“I’ll tell him,” Steph promised. She might wait until Bruce could go a day without locking himself in a room and refusing to talk to anybody, but she’d tell him. Eventually. Once they could all handle it.

Satisfied, Harley allowed Ivy to pull her along to safety, snapdragons at their sides like the world’s weirdest guard dogs.

Steph hurried back to Cass and Talia. She’d probably be more of a hindrance to Cass in a fight than help, but at the very least she could be there for moral support.

There wasn’t any need, as it turned out. Talia was already gone, leaving only Cass hiding in the shadows.

“Ivy’s got her,” said Steph. “She should be fine, now.”

Cass looked her over and gestured to the cuts in her uniform.

Steph stretched and immediately regretted it. “Yeah, I’ll probably head back to the cave to get myself checked out. Did you bring the Batmobile?”

Cass nodded and led her to where she’d parked it. Once Steph was sitting down and in what her subconscious categorized as a safe space, all of the aches and pains refused to be ignored. And the worst part was that she couldn’t even promise herself to take a break for a week or so. Bruce was gonna be out of commission for a long time, Tim and Dick were helping the Justice League deal with all the fallout from a bunch of planets getting brainwashed, and Cass would feel super guilty if she couldn’t be there for her family. Gotham needed a Bat, and Steph was the only one available, so she’d just have to suck it up.

Cass activated the comm and gave Steph a look that said, _You talk, I drive_.

“Hey, so, we’re all alive!” she said.

Barbara breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. Are you both all right?”

Steph shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far. Tell Alfred to get some bandages ready. Also, possibly some anti-poison stuff.”

Barbara sighed again in a much less happy way. “This is the League of Assassins we’re talking about. If it was poisoned, you’d already be dead.”

“So… yay! No poison!”

“You coming?” Cass asked.

“Not yet,” said Babs. “There’s still a lot of stuff to coordinate. Give B a hug from me, okay?”

Cass nodded, then realized that they didn’t have visuals. “I nodded.”

“Good to hear. Stay safe, both of you. We… We can’t lose anyone else.”

Staying safe went against the grain of Steph’s entire being, but Babs sounded like she’d already done way too much crying, so she said, “Pinky promise.”

The call ended.

Steph turned to Cass. “Okay, now that we’ve got time, can you tell me what I’m walking into?”

“Not sure. Had to leave quick. Alfred’s sad. Damian’s sad. Bruce’s in Jason’s room. Won’t leave.”

Damn. Even the brat was upset. “Please tell me that room’s got an en suite, otherwise…” She shuddered.

Cass nodded. “And Alfred’s bringing food.”

All right. That was… Obviously it wasn’t _good_ , because nothing about any of this was good, but at least he wasn’t going to starve to death and could theoretically shower.

Steph couldn’t think of any way to continue the conversation without getting super depressing, and there’d be more than enough of that at the manor, so she spent the rest of the drive telling Cass about normal things in her life, like asshole neighbors and college plans. Cass seemed to like it, so she considered it a success.

Finally, they arrived in the cave. Alfred was waiting for them. He looked a little more tired than usual, but other than that he seemed fine, or at least was putting on a very good front of seeming fine. “Welcome back,” he said, looking them both over from a distance. Cass passed the examination with flying colors, while Steph got the dreaded Slightly Pursed Lip. “Miss Stephanie, please take a seat in the medical bay.”

“He still there?” Cass asked.

“Yes. I think it would do him good to see you.”

Cass nodded and went to the changing area.

Steph sat on one of the beds and pulled off her cape, wincing when she got a good look at one of the cuts. Jesus, no wonder that hurt so much. Good to see she wasn’t being a wuss.

“I trust Miss Quinn is safe?” Alfred asked as he began applying antiseptic.

“Yep,” Steph hissed between gritted teeth. “She’s with Poison Ivy. Even the League of Assassins’ll have trouble getting to her.”

“Was Talia injured?”

Steph gave him a weird look. “I dunno. She was gone when I got back. I didn’t hit her that hard, though.”

“I’m sure Master Damian will be pleased to hear that.”

The rest of the patch-up happened in silence, apart from some swearing, admonishments for swearing, and instructions on what not to scratch. Alfred ended up taking a blood sample just to make sure there wasn’t anything nasty in her bloodstream, which meant she had to hang around long enough for the results to come back.

The wait was long enough for Cass to come back… with Bruce in tow.

He looked like shit. Steph knew he’d look like shit, but _damn._ He definitely hadn’t showered in the last day, or changed clothes, or gotten enough sleep, or just about any sort of self-care.

As soon as he came into view, his eyes zeroed in on Steph. They went through the usual movements of looking her over for injuries or mistakes he could criticize, but there was just… nothing in them. Quite frankly, Steph had seen corpses with more life in them. Once he was done, he walked over to her, and she honestly had no idea what to expect. Usually she at least had an either/or scenario prepared, usually ‘either he praises me for a job well done or lectures me for three hours on how I could’ve done better’. It was honestly kind of scary, not knowing.

As soon as he was in arm’s reach, he pulled her into a hug, which was honestly way scarier than if he’d started yelling. She was used to yelling. Yelling meant he was normal. Hugging wasn’t. Bruce usually didn’t hug people unless they’d nearly died recently, or at least that was Steph’s experience. Yeah, her injuries stung like a bitch, but they were far from life threatening, and Bruce would know that.

Ten seconds in, he clearly wasn’t letting go any time soon, and it honestly felt kind of nice so long as she ignored the B.O., so she hugged him back.

Whatever spell it was was broken by Alfred’s voice. “Master Bruce, I am pleased to see you out and about, but please do not aggravate Miss Stephanie’s injuries.”

Bruce let her go and held her by the shoulders, staring at her in a weird way that was both bleary and focused at the same time, like he was looking through her like a lens to look at something else. Like maybe he was looking at her and seeing a different stubborn, smart-mouthed, reckless kid from the bad part of town. The thought made her sad, uncomfortable, and a little pissed off, but she swallowed it down. Whatever she was feeling, Bruce was probably feeling a thousand times as awful. She could give him a break, for once.

“Are you staying?” he asked, and holy shit his voice sounded rough. It sounded like he’d been gargling glass.

Steph looked over at Cass and Alfred, whose expressions made it very clear that they would understand if she wanted to leave and not get involved, but they would definitely appreciate it if she stayed and Alfred would give her cookies. How could she say no to that?


	41. Like Autumn and Winter, They Pass

The universe kept going.

That was the thing about tragedy. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how important it felt, no matter how it felt like there should be fire raining from the sky and destroying the world, because how could life go on like this, the world moved on. Paperwork still needed to be filled out. Criminals still needed to be stopped. And now, Bruce’s family needed him more than ever.

So, he kept going. It felt as if he were dragging himself along a path of broken glass, but he kept going. He filled out paperwork. He coordinated patrols. He could tell they didn’t trust him to go himself, and, frankly, he didn’t trust himself either. It would be all too easy to see a weapon on course for a fatal blow, or the ground rushing up to meet him right before he fired his grappling hook, and for just long enough decide not to stop it.

He didn’t get much sleep. If it were just nightmares, it might have been so bad. It was the happy ones that made him afraid to go to bed. Afraid to wake up and think Jason was down the hall, or in a safehouse, or somewhere undetermined but _alive_ , and then be reminded of reality and lose him all over again.

Dick and Tim came back home. It would take people with serious political and governmental know-how to clean up the rest of the mess, and those were among the few things Bruce never taught them. It was good to have them back, even if Tim spent a lot of time out to avoid Damian. Bruce wasn’t sure he’d ever been more grateful for Dick as he picked up the slack. It wasn’t fair on him, he knew, but Bruce just… He just couldn’t.

Tim said that the Monitors confirmed Jason’s body was completely destroyed. They theorized that Granny Goodness specifically made the kris to do so, in order to make sure there wasn’t anything left for the Phoenix Force to reanimate. Bruce thanked him for the information and spent the rest of the day in Jason’s room.

People noticed that Batman hadn’t shown up in a while, and criminals started getting bolder. After much debate and arguing, it was decided that Dick would put on the suit and make a few appearances around the city. Bruce made a mental note to create a new, smaller suit for situations like this, because ill-fitting equipment could be the difference between life and death. He tried not to think about how Jason would have been a better fit.

Eventually, once he was able to sleep for at least a few hours every night and go days without locking himself in Jason’s room, he went back on patrol. It felt good. Too good. There’d been a dark, blazing rage lurking beneath all the exhaustion and grief, and it was finally able to unleash itself on something other than a punching bag. The sudden rush of adrenaline after weeks of miserable ennui felt like somebody had shocked him with a defibrillator.

It was a very, very good thing that the kids insisted on not letting him patrol alone, because left to his own devices he might have killed somebody. Just like last time.

That was the worst part. He’d been through this all already. He knew how the story went. Shouldn’t he be able to skip to the end? He knew what he was doing wasn’t healthy. He knew how much it was hurting his family to watch him be like this. But no matter how many times he repeated all the logical reasons why he should calm down and move on, he just couldn’t stop. At least it meant he knew the outcome; Eventually, the pain would lessen. It would never be gone completely, and would always be worse than before, but he’d learn to cope. He’d learn how to function with another Jason-shaped hole in his heart.

Once she was sure it was really him back in the suit, Selina pulled a big heist and played a city-spanning game of cat and mouse with him, just like old times. He suspected that she was taking it easy on him and let him catch her this time, not that there was any chance of getting her to ever admit it and thus no point in bringing it up. Usually, this sort of game ended with him giving the commlink an excuse that everybody could probably see through at that point and spending the rest of the night with her.

This wasn’t that sort of night. It wasn’t going to be that sort of night for a while. Selina seemed a little disappointed, but not very surprised. She stuck around, though, and they ended up just talking. He couldn’t remember the last time they did that. Just Bruce and Selina, not Batman and Catwoman. She didn’t offer her sympathies. She did, however, tell a few stories of when she and Jason had some one-on-one run-ins back when he was Robin.

“He was always a bit of a mess, wasn’t he? Don’t try and argue, you know he was.” Her smile faded into something more serious as she stared out at the city. “I don’t know all the details, and I assume you don’t want to talk about them.”

She paused just in case he proved her wrong. He didn’t, this time.

“But whatever happened, I think he’d want you to remember that. He wasn’t some poor little saint too good for this sinful world. He had flaws. He made mistakes – a lot of them, and it sounds like they got a _lot_ of people hurt.” She turned to look at him, and she seemed to see some of what was going on in his head. “I’m not saying it’s his fault. He didn’t deserve that. It was unfair. It was a big, unfair, fucked-up mess, and the only angle it’s not going to be a fucked-up mess from is an imaginary one, so stop trying to find it.”

Bruce couldn’t prove her wrong now, either. He was a detective. He always tried to find the angle that would make all the pieces fit together and make sense. It would all be so much simpler and cleaner if he could just blame everything on the Phoenix Force, or Darkseid, or the Batman from that other universe. But Selina was right. Jason made mistakes, too. None of it might have happened if the Phoenix had chosen someone more stable and well-adjusted. That didn’t make it Jason’s fault. He wasn’t sure it was any one person’s fault.

Selina decided that was enough serious conversation and led him on a chase the other way across the city before vanishing into the night, leaving him with nothing but the faint scent of her and his own thoughts.

He didn’t let go of Jason. Just like before, he could never truly let him go. But he was able to let his grip loosen a little. He could look at a library or the Batmobile’s tires and not feel like he’d been stabbed in the heart.

Things weren’t okay, but they were better. Manageable. On good days he could sometimes smile.

Then Darkseid came back.

As Batman understood it, he and the New Gods had their own personal psychopomp to guide their souls to the afterlife. Said psychopomp was killed by Ja – by Phoenix before he killed the rest of them, leaving their souls trapped in between and capable of possessing a new form. Darkseid found one. That alone would have been nightmarish, but it would be manageable. If the Justice League all worked together, they should be able to defeat him without too much collateral damage.

What made it far, far more complicated was the fact that now Darkseid had finally found the full Anti-Life Equation. In addition, not only did it allow him to brainwash anybody that came into contact with the equation, it was also slowly killing all life in the universe. Batman tried not to think about how ‘all life in the universe’ meant the Phoenix Force, and how he wouldn’t feel very sorry to see it die if it didn’t mean everything else dying with it.

As things got worse and worse, Batman realized that maybe he should think about such things. That sometimes, for the survival and good of the universe, some people had to die. In this case, one particular person. As the plan formed, he was honestly relieved to realize he most likely wouldn’t live to regret it. A death for a death.

His parents probably wouldn’t be very happy about it if he saw them again. Jason would, though. He’d think it was hilarious. He’d laugh at him, tell him it took him long enough, insult him in all sorts of creative ways.

There was a little fear, once he’d pulled the trigger and he saw Darkseid’s Omega Beams charging. No amount of training and acceptance could entirely negate one’s self-preservation instincts.

There were a lot of regrets. This final decision was not one of them, however.

And then…

There was light. Blinding light, and deafening noise, and numbing heat.

And then he was at the kitchen table, back at the manor, sitting opposite two… beings.

One looked like a relatively ordinary goth woman, albeit one that was unusually pale and beautiful. The other was more like a human-shaped mass of white flame.

“Hello, Bruce Wayne,” said the woman. “I am Death of the Endless.”

“And I am the Phoenix Force.”

Batman’s confusion over the situation vanished, replaced by fury. Not only had the Phoenix Force taken Jason’s life, not only had it taken years he could have spent happy and safe instead of terrified of his own power, it had stolen his voice, too. He stood with enough speed and force to knock his chair over and snarled, “Don’t you _dare_ use his voice.”

“I warned you,” said Death with a smirk.

“Very well. Is this better?” the Phoenix Force asked in Bruce’s own voice.

It was, though it was still far from good. The thought of agreeing with the Phoenix brought bile to his throat, however, so he simply let it figure it out for itself while he picked up his chair and took a seat again.

Death took a sip from her mug and said, “As I’m sure you are aware, you are dead.”

Oh. Right. He looked down at himself, half-expecting to be transparent or skeletal. No. He was still him, suit and all. If this were anything other than some strange dying fever dream, Alfred would be furious with him for wearing the suit in the manor.

Death continued, “If you wish, you can stay dead. Move on to the other side.”

“Or I could give you another chance,” said the Phoenix.

He glared at it, unable to remember ever hating anything as much as he hated it. “I don’t want anything from you.”

The blob that might have been the Phoenix’s head turned downward, as if it were looking down in shame. “You are angry. I understand. I… I never intended for Jason to be hurt, if that makes it better. I could not save him, but I can save you.”

“It doesn’t make it better.” He wanted it to come out as a growl, but the anger was already fading, leaving him empty. “He still got hurt.”

The Phoenix looked back up and tilted its head. “Could the same not be said for you?”

The rage came back, but it was dampened by the detective part of him, which had just slotted a new puzzle piece into place and seen an entirely different picture. Not one where the Phoenix Force was maliciously forcing Jason to do horrible things, but one where the Phoenix was just another person that tried to help him and did it all wrong. He seemed to have a talent for attracting those. Bruce, Talia – an argument could even be made for Catherine.

Bruce didn’t know whether time was passing in whatever this place was, but to be safe he decided not to get into that discussion, because it would be a very long, difficult, and exhausting one. Instead, he said, “And what would be the cost?”

The Phoenix Force hesitated, which Batman took as a bad sign. Eventually, it seemed to steel itself and said, “You would not come back as Bruce Wayne. With my powers diminished, I do not have the control needed to bring your soul back to your own time and body. You would be reincarnated in another time, and when you die you will be reincarnated again, and again, until somebody saves you.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “Why is that something I would need saving from?”

“Darkseid’s left his mark on you,” said Death. “Phoenix doesn’t have enough power to remove it, and I’m already bending the rules too much by allowing this. Whatever lives you live, they aren’t going to be happy ones.”

“And if I choose to move on?” Batman asked.

“Then you move on,” said Death. “And you leave all your family and friends behind to grieve for you.”

Batman stared down at the table. There was a mug in front of him, dark and steaming. It smelled like Alfred’s special coffee blend. He took a sip. It tasted like it, too.

He knew how closely senses and memories were intertwined, so he wasn’t surprised to find himself thinking about all the times he’d drunk this exact coffee while he listened to whichever kids were around that morning as they chatted. Tim wouldn’t chat much until his coffee kicked in, at which point his conversations would usually be him complaining about school or discussing the latest case. Dick usually preferred to keep their night lives out of it, encouraging everyone to talk about normal stuff like how that cereal didn’t have _that_ much sugar in it, Alfred, seriously, he was, like, 99% sure they’d made it healthier, no he couldn’t find the ingredients list to prove it. Cass, of course, stayed quiet. There was no need for her to talk when a disappointed stare or happy smile did the job. At first, Damian was quiet, too, but over time he got more talkative. Not in a very good way, since most of what he had to say was very negative, but at least he was talking. And Stephanie just went with the flow, whatever direction the conversation went in.

He didn’t know how Jason would fit in. Back… _before_ , it was just them and Alfred. And after, they never got the chance.

“He would not want you to join him,” said the Phoenix Force.

Batman ripped himself out of his reverie and glared at it. “Stay out of my head.”

“Even if it’s being rude, it’s right,” said Death. “All the people you are eager to see on the other side aren’t eager to see you. You’ll be reunited with them eventually, and forever. The years you have left will matter more to the living than the dead.”

Bruce stared out the window. In this place, it was fall, leaves turning orange and looking fiery in the sunlight. A time of change. A time between warmth and cold, life and sleep. It had definitely been chosen on purpose.

Said purpose seemed to be to push him toward choosing death. He had already chosen it. He had chosen it the moment he became Batman. As much as he hated to think about it, he always knew that this sort of life didn’t end in old age, surrounded by grandchildren and contentment at the life he’d lived. It was always going to end in blood and regret. This was about the cleanest, most noble death he could have asked for.

Unless death was restful, happy summer, and it was life that was cold, hard, and miserable. It certainly sounded like the lives waiting for him would be. It wouldn’t be that much different from the life he’d already lived. There were moments of warmth and joy, but they took a lot of hard work, suffering, and mistakes to earn. But it was worth it. Wasn’t it? Even if those moments were far and few between for him, wasn’t the point that they’d be more common for others? Every night he spent getting bruised and battered was another night dozens of people were able to go home and have a night of peace. Every day he spent in whatever life he had to live would be a day he could spend making sure his family was happy and safe.

“How long would it take for someone to find me?” he asked, still staring out the window.

“It is difficult to say,” said the Phoenix Force. “Your language was not designed for time travel. From the perspective of those in the present, I believe that somebody such as the Repla – such as Tim Drake would bring you back within a year. From your perspective…”

It looked to Death, seemingly realizing that she was better suited to deliver bad news.

Death delivered the news in the form of, “You probably won’t remember much of it, if anything at all. Past lives are like that.” She stirred her drink thoughtfully. “Or would it be future lives? Concurrent lives? This would be so much easier if we were speaking in –“ She let out a sound that, to Batman, seemed as close to the name of a language as it was to a fork getting thrown down the garbage disposal.

“Alas, we are not,” said the Phoenix Force. “There is no need to rush your decision. Time passes differently here. You have approximately three million years to think it over.”

Batman could easily spend three million years thinking this over. That was why he always worked better with deadlines. Less room for overthinking. But he didn’t want to underthink, either. Not for something this important.

The clock hanging on the wall seemed broken, and he lost track of the seconds after two thousand and fifty-seven, so he didn’t know how long he sat there sipping his coffee, thinking, and trying to avoid looking at Death and Life.

Finally, he reached a conclusion. He knew how much it hurt to lose a parent. He would not inflict that on his children, especially since most of them had already experienced it. And every day he was alive was a day he could save someone. He would not always succeed, and sometimes he might just make things worse, but he believed that, overall, he could do more good than harm. And even if his other lives were full of suffering, maybe he could still use them to ease the suffering of others.

He looked at the Phoenix Force. “Send me back.”

Death nodded in understanding. “Remember, whatever may happen, I will claim you eventually. You’ll see them again soon enough.” To most people, and from most people, that would have seemed like a threat, but Batman took it for the comfort it was meant as.

“For what it’s worth…” The Phoenix Force paused, perhaps trying to put its intended sentiment in a way that wouldn’t just make Batman angrier. “He knew you loved him.”

The amount of intermingled grief and relief that idea elicited completely overwhelmed the sensation of coming back to life. Or perhaps Bruce wouldn’t have been able to comprehend that sensation anyway, and his mind latched onto something both understandable and overwhelming.

He opened his eyes, and would not be Bruce again for a long time.


	42. Goodbye

Jason opened his eyes to a sky full of stars and the Phoenix Force.

He was dead. Or, at least, he should be. The last thing he remembered was stabbing himself, and, somehow, he knew that time had passed since then, even if he couldn’t remember anything to fill the gap. And he didn’t remember anything from when he was dead before, so…

He closed his eyes and sighed. If he were lying on something solid, he would have let his head fall back and collide with it. As it was, he just kept floating, held still by an invisible, most likely Phoenix-y, force.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” he whispered.

“Under better circumstances, I would.” It could just be Jason’s imagination, but the Phoenix sounded more… emotional? Normal? Human? “But I’m afraid these are not better circumstances.”

He opened his eyes again to glare at it. “There are no better circumstances, Phoenix. You were very clear on that.”

“I’m about to die, Jason. There are better circumstances than this.”

“What do you mean, you’re about to die?” Was this some sort of guilt-trip to get him to agree to come back to life and help finish the job? No, that was probably beyond the Phoenix Force’s understanding of humanity.

“Nekron, the personification of oblivion, is attempting to fulfill his purpose and end all life in the universe.”

Jason took a moment to process that. “Yeah, those circumstances could definitely be better. But what does that have to do with me?”

“In order to fight Nekron, I require a host,” the Phoenix explained. “I attempted to use Sinestro, but he failed.”

Jason held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, hold up, you used _Sinestro_ as a host? When people said you should get a different host, they meant somebody better, not fucking _Sinestro!_ ”

“I am not trying to learn to be mortal, Jason, I am trying to not die. He was the most experienced Lantern present, so –“

“What does being a Lantern have to do with anything?”

“If you would let me finish,” the Phoenix snapped, and it was definitely not just Jason’s imagination that it sounded more human. Being annoyed was definitely a human trait.

A trait Jason had much more experience in. “Well, if _you_ would explain what is going on beyond the bare minimum…”

“Nekron is giving his host power through a ring, so the best way to fight him was through a ring, too,” it explained, though a touch tetchily. “I thought Sinestro would suffice. I was wrong. I believe it’s because he was not the host I truly wanted, and so my heart wasn’t truly in the fight.”

Oh, boy. “And let me guess, the one you really want is me?”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t agree, the whole universe is gonna die?”

“Most likely.”

Jason sighed again. “You realize that’s no choice at all for me, right?”

“I do.” The annoyance faded, giving way to something like sadness. “If you wish, I can return you to your rest as soon as Nekron is defeated.”

Jason’s first instinct was to accept. He was supposed to be dead twice over. Trying to change that had only caused more pain. And while he couldn’t really remember anything, he had the vague feeling that his afterlife wasn’t exactly something he was eager to escape. It was where he belonged. Why break the rules of the universe, when the universe was so fond of breaking you in return?

_Because you have a living family that loves and misses you._

That was one of the downsides of telepathy. It made it a lot harder to delude yourself about other people’s feelings toward you. He’d got an up-close and personal look at how much Bruce had cared when he died the first time. He got a slightly less personal but much more physical look at how much Dick cared the third time. So, he knew that they’d want him back.

He also knew that this was exactly the sort of thing the family would get involved in. There’d probably be somebody there to see him come back and do his Phoenix thing. He couldn’t think of anything crueler than to come back, get their hopes up, and then die again right in front of them.

“That’s not what I want,” he said. “Could you just… leave once we’re done?”

“If that’s what you want.” The Phoenix’s voice had gone back to familiar emotionlessness. Jason wondered if it had somehow picked up some of Bruce’s poor emotion management skills through osmosis. That tone bore quite the resemblance to his robot mode. “However, I must warn you that there are many people and forces in the universe that would not be happy about it.”

Jason shrugged. “I’m pretty used to people wanting me dead. I can deal with it.” Even if he got killed sooner than later, if he could tie up at least a couple of the loose ends his death left dangling in hurricane-level winds, it would be enough.

He felt the Phoenix Force’s mind brush against his. It was gentle, by its standards, but it still sent shockwaves rolling through him. He shoved past his initial instinct to close himself off and dropped his defenses, allowing the Phoenix to pour in like a flood and fill every inch of him. It felt weird, but at the same time it felt… _right._ Like a piece of him was finally back in place. That’s what happened when you had something living in your head for years, lost it, and then got it again, he supposed. You got used to it. That didn’t mean it was good.

Even if it was a bad thing, he couldn’t deny the rush suddenly having the power of the Big Bang at his fingertips again gave him.

“Are you ready?” the Phoenix asked.

“Yes,” said Jason. He did not add, _But only because I haven’t given all that much thought to the fact that I’m about to come back to life and have to fight the personification of oblivion and face my family again and I don’t know which one is scarier. If I think about any of that I won’t ever be ready. So I’m not._

He sensed that he should close his eyes right before everything went white.

He became aware of the living world slowly. It was like it was a painting done in invisible ink, slowly fading from white, to strokes of watered-down-to-hell watercolors, to badly blended pastels, and finally, slowly, to reality.

There was still a lot of white. White flame completely engulfed him, blocking out every other sensation. Through it, however, he could see the flickering images of too many heroes to list. A lot of them looked awfully zombie-ish.

 _That is Nekron’s doing,_ the Phoenix explained.

 _Can we undo it?_ Jason asked, trying not to feel sick at the sight of them.

The Phoenix considered it for a moment. _Yes. Use your ring and will it to be so._

Jason looked down, and sure enough there was a ring on his finger. Well, more like there was a blinding light on his finger that looked ring-shaped if you squinted hard enough. He lifted his hand and curled it into a fist, like he’d seen Green Lanterns do when they used their rings. He didn’t know if it actually helped or if it was just to look cool, but he believed it would help, so it would. That was how this power worked. Nothing was impossible unless you convinced yourself otherwise, and Jason was thoroughly convinced that people could come back to life.

He closed his eyes and focused on the thought until his eyelids went from black to red to white, then back again. He opened them and found a crowd of familiar, alive, not-zombie faces staring at him in a smorgasbord of reactions ranging from confusion to shock to tearful joy.

Seeing them all again, feeling his heart beating in his chest, just being _alive_ made Jason’s own reaction just as much of a smorgasbord. He pushed the majority of the feelings down so he could smirk and say, “Miss me?”

A lot of the expressions changed, but none more than Hal Jordan’s. “Save the lines for when we’re not all about to die!” he yelled, pointing over Jason’s shoulder.

Jason turned, and… Okay, that wasn’t quite what he’d imagined the personification of oblivion to look like. He’d been imagining some sort of giant blob of nothingness. Instead, it was a giant skeleton thing with a scythe. It was closer to how he’d imagined Death before he met her. If she was Death of the Endless, Nekron must be Endless Death. No reincarnation, no rebirth, no fertilizing the soil for new life, just death and nothingness. Forever.

Jason flexed his fingers, ring blazing with light. He looked over his shoulder and gave Hal a mocking salute. “Yes, sir!”

_Okay, Phoenix, how the fuck do we fight this?_

_That is why I needed you,_ the Phoenix replied. _I do not know. Brute force did not work. It seems we cannot kill something that is not alive._

_Okay. That sucks._

Necron moved his scythe, preparing for his next attack. One Jason wasn’t sure they’d all survive. He scanned his surroundings and tried to absorb as much information from the Phoenix as possible.

In the deluge, he was able to pick out something. Nekron had a host, too. And unlike the Phoenix, which was already connected to the living universe by, y’know, giving birth to it and only took on a host to larp as a mortal, Nekron actually needed one to be on this plane of reality. So, if they were able to sever the connection, problem solved. Right?

 _Right,_ the Phoenix Force agreed. _They cannot be separated the way we were, however. Black Hand is already dead. Even if we destroy his body, Nekron will be able to restore it._

Jason’s eyes flickered back to the crowd of newly non-zombified heroes, who were all preparing to fight and seemed in no danger of getting snatched back by Nekron. _What if we did the opposite? What if we brought him back to life?_

The Phoenix didn’t waste time on coherent thought. There wasn’t time to waste, not with Nekron gathering enough death-oblivion-whatever energy to make Jason feel cold even through the flames. All he got was a sensation along the lines of _Here goes nothing_ before everything went white.

He wasn’t sure if his time in the afterlife had undone some of him getting used to handling the Phoenix’s power, or if the Phoenix just didn’t want him to see this, but there was a considerable amount of time where he experienced nothing but the White Hot Room. The best thing he could say about it was that at least it didn’t leave much room for thinking.

Eventually, reality faded back in, just as slowly. As it did, the Phoenix Force spoke to him.

_It is done. Nekron has been banished._

“Well,” said Jason, and then frowned because he couldn’t actually hear himself. He could sense that the Phoenix could hear him, though, so he continued. “That was very anticlimactic from my perspective.”

He thought he heard someone say something, but it was quickly drowned out by the Phoenix.

_I would rather not repeat past events by linking us together too closely._

It paused. The world was in actual color now, albeit far too blurry to make out anything beyond blobs.

“So, I guess this is goodbye, huh?” he murmured. He could kind of hear his own voice, now, but not enough to identify what emotion it was conveying. Hell, he wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling in the first place. It should be happiness. No more powers. No more fear. No more destruction. He’d just be him again. Normal Jason.

Normal, broken, often helpless, often lonely Jason.

_Yes. It is for the best. However pure our intentions, we only brought out the worst in each other._

Despite its words, Jason could sense it felt just as conflicted about suddenly being alone again, no matter how terrible an idea the alternative was.

His vision was getting a lot clearer. Clear enough to recognize faces. The one closest was Diana’s – or was it Donna? It still wasn’t quite clear enough to tell them apart. Whoever she was, she was clearly trying to talk to him, but she might as well have been an adult in a Charlie Brown cartoon for all Jason was able to understand her. With a truly Herculean effort he managed to turn his head and look around at everyone and – huh. There were people missing. He could have sworn he saw zombie Martian Manhunter, but now he was nowhere to be seen. And where was Bruce? Why wasn’t he the one in Jason’s personal space trying to talk to him? This was the exact sort of situation Batman would insist on involving himself in, even if there wasn’t much he could do against the giant void skeleton.

 _Martian Manhunter, among others, is dead,_ the Phoenix explained. _Nekron merely reanimated their bodies in order to make their friends despair. Batman is not dead._

Jason let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes.

_Whatever the others may tell you, he is not dead, and if things proceed at this pace he will be back soon enough._

Any relief fled and Jason’s eyes flew open again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

The face in front of him grew confused, and a voice that could have been Diana’s or Donna’s asked, “What are you talking about?”

_It will become clear soon enough. Consider it my final gift to you._

Jason could feel the Phoenix pull away, and instinctively reached out a metaphorical telepathic hand to grab it by the metaphorical sleeve. “Wait.”

He felt the Phoenix stop and wait patiently while he wrangled his errant thoughts and feelings into something vaguely coherent.

“One last gift?” he whispered. “Just… at least one good thing we can say we did together?”

 _Anything,_ the Phoenix said without hesitation, proving that it clearly hadn’t learned its lesson and it really was for the best that they separate.

“Bring them back. As many as you can get away with.”

_Very well._

Everything went white again. Over the white noise, he could just barely hear the Phoenix’s voice.

_Goodbye, Jason. When the end comes and I finally die, I will look for you in Death’s halls._

He couldn’t even feel his mouth, much less move it, so he focused hard on the thought of, _See you then. I’ll save you a spot._

There was one last exchange of thoughts and feelings – relief, regret, sadness, hope, and just about every other emotion under the sun, along with a few that weren’t.

Then, everything went black.

Next thing he knew, he was lying in a bed and unable to take in anything else because of the gaping hole in his head. Not a literal one, thankfully, but one just as disconcerting.

The Phoenix Force was gone. Truly, completely gone, and it had taken all its powers with it. He thought it would be a weight off his chest, allowing him to finally breathe in peace without fear or voices in his head. Instead, it felt like he’d suddenly gone deaf. His brain was so used to telepathy that the sudden silence had it setting off every last alarm it could get its hands on to inform him that something was terribly, horribly wrong, even though the logical parts knew that this was actually a good thing.

He opened his eyes, hoping that having access to another sense would distract his brain a little. He was back at the Watchtower. Probably not the exact same room he’d woken up in before, but similar enough that it might as well be. And just like before, there was somebody there waiting for him to wake up.

Donna glared at him, the effect only heightened by the pinkness and puffiness of her eyes. Sadness was often a fuel for anger, not a dampener.

“Uh… hey?” he said, hating how hoarse and uncertain his voice sounded.

Donna grabbed a small paper cup from the bedside table, walked through a door (which presumably led to the bathroom, judging by the sound of running water), came back, and handed the now full cup to him. “Sit up before you drink.”

She was still glaring, so Jason prepared himself for the worst as he sat up and took the cup from her. As soon as he’d swallowed the first gulp, Donna reached out and smacked him upside the head. She was clearly holding back, since the back of his skull wasn’t decorating the ceiling, but it still hurt.

He glared back at her. “Hey, what was that for?”

“Do you really have to ask that?”

Oh. Right. He _did_ kind of kill himself in front of her. He’d be pretty mad if somebody did that to him, along with a bunch of other emotions that were way harder to deal with.

Donna seemed to find them easier to deal with, though, because as soon as the realization dawned in his expression, she hugged him. “Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again,” she murmured into his hair.

Jason found himself automatically trying to reach out telepathically so he could figure out the best thing to say. All he got was a headache, which just made figuring out what to say harder. He couldn’t just automatically agree, or at least not without it being an obvious lie. He didn’t know what the future held. If it was a choice between his life and billions of others, he would make the same choice.

Time for the Obi-Wan approach to the truth. “Trust me, I’d rather not do all this again,” he said, giving her an awkward pat on the back.

Donna pulled back. She wasn’t quite glaring anymore, but she still wasn’t happy. “That isn’t a promise.”

Jason met her gaze. “No. It wasn’t.” He sighed, put the cup back on the table, and let himself fall back, eyes slipping closed. “Can it wait? I feel…” He paused, trying to come up with a proper word to describe his current state. “I feel like shit.”

Whatever expression was on Donna’s face in the silence that followed was a mystery, because Jason couldn’t muster the energy to open his eyes, especially when his brain automatically tried to read her mind again and went into another panic when it couldn’t.

Eventually, she said, “All right. Get some rest.”

He felt a strand of long hair brush his face, and was confused for a moment before he felt her plant a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me, too,” Jason murmured. It wasn’t even a lie. It still took all that remained of his energy to say, though, and he fell asleep before she could respond.

He woke up in a different bed. Actually, scratch that, it wasn’t a bed. Or, at least, not one worthy of a word like ‘bed’. It was too narrow and hard. It was a cot at best. And judging by the sound and faint vibration of a running engine, he’d been moved either somewhere way closer to the engine or whatever the Watchtower had, or he was in an entirely different vehicle.

He opened his eyes to the thinnest slits possible and spotted an all too familiar mixture of yellow, red, and green. His eyes instinctively and immediately flew all the way open to see if he was right.

He was, but he also wasn’t. That was definitely a version of the Robin outfit, but he was pretty sure the Replacement wasn’t _that_ short. Or tanned. Or grumpy-looking.

“Damian?” he asked, trying to ignore the useless telepathic instincts begging to be used.

“Yes,” said the kid, and yup, that was definitely Damian. He didn’t know any other kid who could sound so snobby and disapproving. “And who am I addressing, precisely?”

“Uh… me? Jason? Your brother?” He couldn’t have been dead _that_ long. Damian would have to have been seriously unlucky in the genetic lottery if he grew up to be that short with Bruce and Talia for parents.

Years spent around people in various types of masks allowed Jason to tell that Damian was narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Just you? Are you certain?”

Oh. Right. Possession. “Yep. Just me. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Would you?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Before Jason could come up with a properly scathing reply, he heard the sound of footsteps nearby. He realized three things very quickly. 1) He was on the Batplane. 2) He was a fucking idiot for not realizing that sooner. 3) Batman had emerged from the cockpit.

Except… No, it wasn’t Batman. Jason knew Batman. It was a close match – too close for it to be anybody not deeply, personally familiar with him – but it wasn’t him. The theory was confirmed when he opened his mouth and Dick’s voice began to ask, “What –“

He fell silent when his eyes landed on Jason. Within a moment he was kneeling next to the cot, holding onto his arm with a grip just short of bruising.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? Any side-effects? All the readings at the Watchtower were okay, and J’onn said the Phoenix was gone, but… Hold on, let me go get –“

Jason interrupted before Dick started hyperventilating. “Whoa, dude, chill. Deep breaths, Dickie Bird.”

Damian either didn’t want to see Dick cry, didn’t want to hang around Jason anymore, or wanted to make sure the plane didn’t crash, because in an instant he had vanished with the only trace being a flash of yellow cape disappearing into the cockpit.

Dick’s shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths, and his grip on Jason’s arm loosened. With his free hand, he yanked off his cowl and rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry. I’m just…”

He seemed unable to articulate what, exactly, he just was, and Jason’s stupid brain tried to find out telepathically. Again. And, again, all it got him was more of a headache.

He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut and winced. He felt Dick’s grip tighten again and heard him ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jason grumbled. “My brain’s just being stupid.”

Dick let out a watery sort of laugh. “You’ll have to be more specific, Little Wing. Your brain is stupid a lot.”

Jason opened his eyes to a glare and smacked him on the arm. “Like you’re one to talk. It’s just going to take me a little while to get used to not having powers again.”

Dick let out an acknowledging grunt that would have been far more suited to Bruce than him. Speaking of which…

“What’s with the costume change?” Jason asked, gesturing to the Batman suit.

Dick instantly went pale and averted his eyes.

_Whatever the others may tell you, he’s not dead._

Ah. “He’s not dead,” said Jason.

Dick looked back at him, and Jason realized how tired he looked. Like… well… Like he’d had to take on the role of Batman, and all the duties and responsibilities that entailed. “I’m sorry, Jason,” he said softly. “It was –“

“He’s not!” Jason snapped. “The Phoenix Force said he’s not dead. As life itself, I think it would know.”

Dick’s gaze sharpened. Jason could practically see him putting pieces together in his head. “Are… Are you sure?”

Jason nodded. “It was pretty clear. Even said he’d be back soon if things kept going as they are.”

“Then…” Dick finally let go of Jason’s arm so he could bury his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. “Oh, fuck, Tim…”

Jason reached out and awkwardly patted him on the shoulder while he tried to calm down.

Damian stuck his head back out of the cockpit, spotted Dick having another breakdown, and fixed Jason with a glare. “What did you say to him?”

Before Jason could ask since when Damian had cared about anybody’s feelings, much less one of the obstacles on the path to becoming Batman, Dick wiped his eyes and turned to face him. “It’s fine, Damian. It’s… It’s more than fine. It seems like Tim might actually be right.”

Damian’s eyes widened. “You mean… Father’s alive?”

Just looking at the maelstrom of emotions on both of their faces was enough to make Jason feel exhausted. Dick and Damian’s discussion became so much white noise in his ears, which felt comfortingly, sadly familiar as he drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to wrap this story up pretty soon. I've got some ideas for continuing into New 52 and Rebirth, but I feel like this story is long enough already and this is a nice stopping point. I'll write one or two more chapters to tie up loose ends, take a bit of a break, and then if you guys want I can do a sequel. Thank you all for your wonderful support.


	43. Where the Heart Is

Jason woke up in the medical bay of the Batcave. It was kind of depressing that even after all this time he recognized the feel of the cots in there without even opening his eyes. He comforted himself with the thought that it might not have just been the familiarity of the bed beneath him. It probably also had to do with the even more familiar sound of Alfred and Dick’s voices nearby, talking about plans, meetings, and trades between names Jason didn’t recognize but couldn’t be any good, judging by their tones. Probably some new gangsters trying to become the next Joker.

He was able to prevent himself from trying to reach out telepathically this time, so hooray for progress. He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings with as little movement as possible. Still the same Batcave as ever. Not that he expected any different. Even if Dick had mostly accepted that Bruce was dead, there’d probably been some part of him that thought he’d come back any day and didn’t want to mess up his stuff.

Dick, perhaps having developed some telepathy of his own and sensing thoughts directed at him, glanced over and met Jason’s eyes. “Jay!” he called out, bounding over like a hyperactive rabbit. “How are you?”

“Better. How long was I out?” Jason asked, avoiding looking at Alfred. He knew Alfie hated people seeing him without his composure, and considering everything the old man had done for him the least he could do was give him a minute to gather himself.

Dick looked down at his phone. “A couple of hours. Think you can stay awake more than five minutes this time?”

“Hey!” Jason objected. “I just saved the universe! If I want to take a nap, I’ll take a fucking nap.”

“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred scolded, face perfectly composed as he approached. “Though I do agree with the sentiment.”

Jason shot Dick a smug smirk. Alfred siding with you was basically the Bat stamp of approval for winning the argument.

The smirk faded when Dick’s expression crumpled and his eyes filled with tears. Before Jason could ask why he was taking a simple lost argument so hard, he lunged down and hugged him so tightly he could practically hear his ribs screaming for release.

Jason looked to Alfred for help, or at least an explanation. Instead, he got a misty-eyed smile and a soft, “We are all very glad to see you again.”

Jason unbent his pride and hugged Dick back. “It’s good to be back.”

Dick let him go and stood back up, wiping his eyes. “Sorry. I’m just… I never thought I’d see that stupid smirk again.”

Jason smirked again. “Well, don’t worry, as long as you keep being an idiot, you’ll see it a lot.”

Dick gave a smirk of his own. “Is that a challenge?”

“No, it is not,” said Alfred firmly. “Master Jason, now that you are awake, there are some tests we must do to ensure there are no complications from your resurrection.”

“They have tests for that?” Jason asked incredulously.

“Not for this specific situation, no,” said Alfred, picking a tablet up off a nearby table and turning it on. “But I believe general cognitive tests will be sufficient. If the scans you received on the Watchtower were accurate, you should have no problems, but it’s best not to make assumptions.”

“I’ll go let the others know you’re awake,” said Dick, running out of the cave with the speed and energy of a child going to wake up their parents on Christmas morning. Or maybe Easter would be a more symbolically appropriate metaphor. Resurrection and all.

Jason recognized the tests. He’d done all of them back with Talia to see if his brain was unfried yet. That had taken long enough for him to practically have the tests memorized. This time, however, he was able to do all of them just fine the first time around. A stupid part of him felt disappointed by that. The tests had given his life structure, things to work on, objective measures of improvement. Now it was all feelings and shit. Ugh.

As soon as the tests were finished (seriously, Jason suspected somebody was watching the cameras for it) several people burst into the cave and surged toward him. He instinctively jumped into a defensive stance and reached for a weapon at his side which was not there. His brain once again proved its stupidity by trying to summon one telepathically and only summoned another headache.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth against the pain. Thus, his only warning of Dick’s approach was one set of footsteps speeding up towards him. The instinct to immediately punch was quelled when Dick asked, “What’s wrong?”

Even with his eyes closed and without telepathy, Jason could sense a hand reaching out to check his temperature or brush his hair back or something else stupid, so he smacked the offending hand away before it could make contact. “Nothing. I'm fine."

“What, people being happy to see you caused you physical pain?” asked a voice it took Jason a moment to recognize as Stephanie’s. “I know we’re all pretty fucked up, but come on.”

“Steph!” Dick gasped.

“Language,” Alfred warned at the exact same time.

“What?” said Stephanie defensively. “We’re fine with letting Damian risk his life, but a few swear words are off the table?”

“Such vocabulary is for common louts,” Damian sneered. “It’s not because I am a child.”

Jason opened his eyes again and pushed past the pain to say, “Nope, it’s definitely ‘cause you’re a kid. They’re weird like that.”

Damian pouted, Stephanie laughed at him, Dick tried very hard to look disapproving instead of amused, Alfred succeeded at hiding his amusement (mostly, anyway, Jason could still tell it was there), and… and there was someone else there. Unless his memory had gotten fried by his resurrection or the photos he saw were all fake, it was Cassandra Cain. His sister.

She tilted her head slightly as she looked him over, a calculating expression on her face. She looked over at Dick and said, “Too much.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She gestured to Jason. “This is too much.”

Jason opened his mouth to object, but he found that he couldn’t. Yes, it was too much. He’d long since gotten used to being overwhelmed, to the point that he didn’t even seem to notice it anymore. But now that he thought about it, yes, having a bunch of people he felt a lot of mixed feelings towards crowding around him when he was just getting used to being alive and losing one of his senses was too much.

Dick looked at him. “Do you need some space?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, you can hang around if you want, but if you do, I’m probably going to punch somebody. Or I’ll try to mess with you with the powers I don’t have anymore and give myself an even bigger headache, and that’ll show you.”

With lightning speed born from nearly twenty years of training, Dick darted his hand in and ruffled Jason’s hair before he could stop him. “See you later, Little Wing.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Dickface.”

Cassandra remained where she was while everybody else filed out. “Better?” she asked once they were gone.

Jason nodded and lay back down, trying to breathe out all of his tension. “So, uh, I guess we should probably introduce ourselves, huh?”

Cassandra smiled, and it was amazing how somebody who could probably kill with a single punch could have such a sweet smile. “Hi. I’m Cass.”

“Hey. I’m Jason.” He held out a hand, which she took and gave a firm shake.

“Hurts?” she asked, pointing at his forehead.

He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

She frowned. “You shouldn’t be.”

Jason shrugged again. “We all shouldn’t be a lot of things, but here we are.” He blamed the headache and the fact that he’d literally been dead less than a day ago (had it been less than a day?) on the fact that it was only then he realized something was missing. More specifically, someone. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t the Replacement be here?”

Cass mulled it over for a few moments before she said, “He’s finding Bruce.”

“Well, at least _somebody’s_ on that instead of trying to smother me,” said Jason, rolling his eyes.

Cass looked away with a guilty expression.

Jason rubbed at his forehead. “Okay, it was nice to meet you, sis, but I am not emotionally, mentally, or, hell, physically prepared to deal with any more weird superhero bullshit. If you could leave me to watch funny cat videos on the Batcomputer in peace, that would be great.”

Cass nodded, gave him another smile, and left.

Jason got to his feet and stumbled over to the Batcomputer. The siren song of cute animals beckoned him, and who was he to refuse?

* * *

Being back at the manor was weird. It would have been weird enough by itself, but the addition of suddenly having a bunch of siblings running around upped it to the level of ‘ludicrously bizarre’. In his memories, the manor was a quiet place, and it was his job to fill it with as much noise and life as possible. There was no need for that now.

He’d considered using his old room again, but one step inside overwhelmed him with so many painful memories heavy with enough guilt to make him collapse in on himself that he decided against it. A guest room was just fine.

It was also nice to not have to worry about anyone accidentally stumbling on all the embarrassing things an eleven-to-fifteen-year-old had hidden in their room. That would have been a serious danger, as everyone in the house was a detective and they all seemed determined to spend as much time wish him as possible.

He got it. He’d been dead, and everyone was happy to see him back and afraid that something bad might happen to him the second he got out of their sight. It had even been kind of nice for the first couple days, once he got used to not being alone 90% of the time. Then he got _too_ used to it, and barely being able to get five minutes of time to himself at a time was really getting to him. Even before he’d spent years wanting to be as far away from other people and their thoughts as possible, he’d always been a bit of an introvert.

Luckily, he was rescued from his prison of hugs and mandatory family movie nights by, funnily enough, the Replacement. Apparently, everyone had taken his claims of Bruce being alive and just misplaced in the timestream as nothing but grief-fueled delusions and refused to help him, so he’d gone off to handle it on his own. So on his own, in fact, that it took a full week for Dick to finally be able to contact him and explain what he’d missed out on and, presumably, sit through as many ‘I told you so’s as Tim desired.

It took slightly less than a week for him to finally make his way back to Gotham. Jason made himself scarce when he heard the tell-tale sounds of a welcoming homecoming elevated by guilt over basically driving the prodigal son away in the first place. The Replacement was probably bitter enough already. Seeing the guy that nearly killed him hanging around in his home (even if it had been Jason’s home first) would just make it worse.

So, he retreated back to his room, put on headphones and a Hadestown playlist to block out the noise, and busied himself looking for good online schools. He had been _very_ firmly banned from vigilante activity until he stopped giving himself a headache trying to do psionic shit every time he got in a spar, and he had no idea how long that would take, so it was in his best interest to expand his options. Not many options for someone without a high school diploma. Or who was legally dead, but he was not ready for the media circus waiting on the other side of that hurdle.

During a pause while the next song loaded, he heard someone knock on the door. He pulled the headphones down around his neck and yelled, “What?”

A voice he didn’t immediately recognize replied, “Um, it’s Tim. Can we talk?”

Jason’s first response was panic, because oh, fuck, the Replacement was right there, he was already getting worked up, he was going to lose control and hurt somebody, and –

He took a deep breath and reminded himself he didn’t have powers anymore. The worst that would happen if he lost control was… Okay, yeah, it would still be pretty bad, but at least he wouldn’t burn down the whole manor. It would be fine. He just had to open the door, see what the Replacement wanted, resolve it as quickly as possible, then forget it ever happened.

Before he could overthink it, he got to his feet and yanked the door open. Then he realized he hadn’t actually thought of what to say. The Replacement seemed a little taken aback, too. Had he not expected Jason to open the door?

Jason found his voice first. “What’s up, Replacement?” Hostility felt a lot more comfortable than trying to be friendly, and if Tim had survived this long, he could take it.

Indeed, his expression hardened and he replied, “I need to know everything the Phoenix Force told you about Bruce.”

Ah. Frankly, that was a relief. Jason was worried he wanted to talk about feelings and shit. “It didn’t say much,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Just that he wasn’t dead and if things continue as they are, he should be back soon.”

No telepathy was needed to see that this was not the response the Replacement was hoping for. “Can you be any more specific?”

“I’m being as specific as the Phoenix was. Which is to say, not at all. Sorry, kid.”

“You’re still only two years older than me,” Tim snapped as he pulled out a notebook and scribbled something down. “Does that mean I’m on the right track, then?”

Jason shrugged. “I dunno, man. Can you go let Dickface try to buy your love back with sweets and leave me alone now?”

The Replacement’s expression darkened. “It’s going to take a lot more than some sweets to make up for giving that brat my costume without even asking me.”

Jason let out an impressed whistle. “Seriously? Damn. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Neither did I.” The Replacement blinked rapidly a few times, as if trying to keep tears at bay. “All right. Thanks for the help.”

He walked away. Jason knew he should probably call after him, stop him, ask him about Artemis Fowl and all that bonding crap everyone wanted them to do so they could all be one big happy family. But he just couldn’t. He knew himself too well. Knew that he’d find some way to screw it up. And it seemed pretty likely Tim would screw it up, too, if not out of bitterness and anger then out of sleep deprivation (those dark circles under his eyes would make any makeup-challenged emo green with envy) or irritation born of pain (just looking at him walk made it clear he should really be on bedrest).

 _I’ll do it someday,_ he promised himself as he closed the door.

* * *

Even if he wasn’t cleared for fighting, Jason at least got invited to the ‘Dad’s lost in the timestream and here’s how we fish him out’ briefing. Maybe they were hoping he’d magically unlock a memory of the Phoenix Force giving him a step-by-step guide on how to do it. Unfortunately, as much as the Phoenix had learned about humanity, it hadn’t been able to kick that ineffable entity habit of being as vague as possible. So, he had jack shit to say and mostly just listened.

He could quickly see why Dick hadn’t believed the Replacement’s theory. ‘Dad’s alive, even if we saw his dead body ourselves, his spirit’s just lost in the timestream’ sounded much more like a grieving teenager desperately grasping at straws than an actual theory. But once you had the personification of life itself confirm it and you remembered all the other crazy shit superheroes dealt with, it made sense. Well, mostly. Jason liked to think of himself as pretty smart, but understanding time travel went beyond the abilities of ‘pretty smart’.

At least he wasn’t the only one asking questions. However, he _was_ the only one that Dick shot suspicious glares at whenever he asked something. Jason didn’t understand why until he apparently asked one question too many and Dick finally snapped, “You’re not getting involved, Jason.”

“What are you talking about?” Jason asked, hackles rising.

“I know that look. You want to come along and be a huge liability to the mission.”

Jason took his feet off the table so he could more easily spring to his feet and start punching if the need arose. “I would not be a liability! Despite what you may think, I didn’t solely rely on my superpowers and let all my muscles atrophy!”

Dick’s response was a batarang thrown directly as Jason’s head. And Jason’s stupid, stupid head saw that and immediately tried to resort to telekinesis. The resulting headache slowed his reflexes enough that he definitely would have gotten a batarang right in the eye if Cass hadn’t caught it at the last second.

Barbara’s sigh crackled over the comm. “There were less dangerous ways of proving it, you know.”

Dick shrugged and gestured for Cass to toss the batarang back to him, which she did. “Between Cass and Damian, he would’ve been fine.”

Jason tried to ignore the lingering panic and adrenaline and raised an eyebrow. “You really think Damian would have bothered?”

“He’s gotten a lot better,” Dick claimed.

Jason dubiously looked over at Damian, whose expression had gone perfectly blank. On his other side, Stephanie caught Jason’s eye and shook her head, clearly broadcasting, _He definitely wouldn’t have bothered._ He decided to trust her judgement. She’d been working with Damian a lot as the new Batgirl, but she wasn’t in the same ‘my angel would never do anything wrong’ mindset Dick was stuck in.

He shot Cass a grateful look, which she accepted with a nod.

“Regardless of methods, he _does_ have a point,” said Babs. “You still have a lot of work to do before you’re mission-ready, Jason.”

“Can’t I at least help with mission control shit?” Jason asked. If he was able to get enough information, he could find a way to sneak out and join them all whether they liked it or not.

Babs replied instantly and firmly. “No. In fact, you need to leave now before you figure out enough to try and follow us.”

Damn it. This was why family was overrated. They knew you too well to fall for your tricks. On the other hand, there were certain tricks you could do with them that you couldn’t do with strangers. Especially with ones that would probably forever see you as a scrawny twelve-year-old in need of protection.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to work today. No sooner had Jason started turning on the puppy-dog eyes than Dick said, “She’s right. You shouldn’t be here.”

On the one hand, Jason was grateful he didn’t have powers anymore, because the flare of rage he felt at that definitely would have manifested violently. On the other hand, not having powers meant he had no way of enforcing any demands beyond ‘I’ll hide the cookie jar if you don’t take me along’. Any single one of the people gathered around the table would give him serious trouble in a fight at the very least. All together, he wouldn’t stand a chance. And even if he did, he probably shouldn’t try. Big, happy families didn’t threaten each other.

“Fine,” he growled, getting to his feet as aggressively as possible and stomping his way out of the Batcave.

* * *

Jason quickly realized just how much he’d been relying on telepathy for his investigations. No matter how hard or how many times he tried, he couldn’t get any information on the mission beyond useless scraps and obvious red herrings.

It didn’t help that he’d gone back to barely having a handful of minutes a day to himself. The initial fervor had died down and everyone had remembered they needed to take some breaks before they broke the impressive current streak for ‘days since someone had a mental breakdown in the Batcave’, and during those breaks everyone went back into ‘Jason will spontaneously combust if he isn’t watched 24/7’ mode. He couldn’t even put it to good use, because even with their guards down everyone was too good at lying to let anything slip.

There wasn’t anything he could do about it, short of holding someone at gunpoint and demanding answers, and Alfred would be disappointed by that, so it was a no-go. So, he found other stuff to do and focus on so his brain didn’t explode.

Alfred could always use a hand around the house. Jason knew that he, like everyone else in this family (considering he was the oldest, he might actually be the source), didn’t like accepting help very much. But Alfred knew that Jason was at his happiest when he felt useful, so he gave him some non-important tasks with only minimal risk of him accidentally dropping things when he tried to hold them with telekinesis.

Between cleaning, researching ways to make himself legally alive again, researching ways to keep the media from finding out he was legally alive again, researching online schools that could be fooled by fake ID if being alive wasn’t an option, and resisting the urge to screw things up himself because good things like this never lasted, time seemed to fly by at supersonic speeds.

He wasn’t sure what date it was on the day the sound of someone knocking hard and fast on his door leaked through his headphones and crested over the sounds of his current Team Fortress 2 match.

“I’m busy!” he yelled, keeping his eyes locked on the screen.

He was pretty sure the knocker yelled something back, but the enemy Demo chose that moment to start targeting him and the words were lost to the sounds of digital explosions.

“Still busy!” he repeated. “Online game, can’t pause, my team needs me!” Seriously, did nobody else on this team besides the Medic know how to do anything other than W+M1? He’d had to kill that Spy three times now because Pyro was off doing fuck all miles away from the cart instead of their goddamn job.

The knocking and yelling stopped, allowing Jason to focus all his might on deciding whether to go with the Razorback in case that Spy started feeling vengeful or Jarate in the hope that if his team could actually see the Spy they’d do something about it.

He took one look at the scoreboard and went with the Razorback.

He was left in peace (by his family, at least, his enemies and his teammates other than Medic caused him no end of grief) long enough for him to get kicked from the match after the Spy accused him of aimbotting. Nobody was going to believe that he’d spent years regularly shooting people in real life and found the skill easily transferrable, so he didn’t bother defending himself.

That was enough rage and exasperation for one day, so he shut off his computer and checked his phone. If whatever the knocker had to say was that important, they would’ve sent him a text.

He had two messages from Dick. Even though they were both on the screen, he wasn’t able to read the second, because the first shut down what felt like all of his brain functions, including breathing.

_Bruce is back._

Once his brain felt like sending out signals beyond an overwhelming avalanche of conflicting emotions, he moved his eyes to see when the text had been sent. Yup, it had been sent while he was playing. Probably right after Dick gave up on knocking. Why had he given up on knocking? This was way more fucking important than a stupid game! Bruce was fucking back, and Dick gave up after, what, ten seconds?!

He moved his eyes down to read the second message before he smashed his phone in anger. The first thing he saw was that this one was much more recent, having only been sent about two minutes ago. Then he actually read the message itself.

_He’s going to your room. Get ready._

He was on his feet and opening the window before his brain caught up with his instincts. Bruce being back in their time was one thing. Bruce being in the same room trying to talk to him was something else entirely. And Dick wouldn’t say ‘Get ready’ if he thought it would be an easy conversation. No conversation with Bruce was. The man could turn ‘What’s for dinner?’ into an opportunity to convince himself all the bad things in the world were his fault.

He stood at the window, paralyzed. Even when he heard footsteps coming down the hall that were so obviously Bruce’s it made his heart stutter in his chest, he couldn’t get his muscles to listen to him. Not until the door creaked open, and old training kicked in, making him spin around and reach for a weapon that was not there.

Bruce stood in the doorway, dressed in slacks and a t-shirt that clashed so terribly they must have been the first things he found in the closet to throw on. He was already in full robot mode, which was not a good omen.

To Jason’s surprise, he didn’t feel angry. Well, okay, he did feel a _little_ angry, because he always felt a little angry, but it was far from the dominant emotion at the moment. No, that honor went to guilt. The last time he saw Bruce in person, he’d promised that they’d talk once the multiverse was safe. There’d been so much he’d wanted to tell him. And now there was even more. There were so many things he’d never said, allowing it to fester and rot in his chest like the corpse he should be.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, and the words did not want to stop. “I should have listened. I should have listened to you all along. I never should have trusted the Phoenix. I shouldn’t have killed. I shouldn’t have gone to find Sheila. If I hadn’t been such an idiot, then all those people would still be –“

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to regulate his breathing. Thus, he did not notice Bruce close the distance between them until he’d pulled him into a warm, tight, breath-stealing hug.

“I love you,” said Bruce, firm and undeniable as the fact that the sky was blue. The sky was blue, the sun set in the west, and Bruce loved Jason.

Jason took a deep, shaky breath before he hugged him back and murmured, “I love you, too.”

There was still a lot to say. A lot they needed to talk about. There’d probably be a lot of arguing and screaming and a lot more crying, but for now… For now, this could be enough. This was what mattered most. Confirming that, yes, they did love each other, even after all this, and all the things contained in those three words. So long as they remembered that and were willing to compromise, there was a future where they could both be happy.

It was going to take a hell of a lot of work to get there, though, but that could wait until they were done hugging. All the more reason to keep the hug going as long as possible. If any of his siblings asked, though, it was totally Bruce’s fault.


	44. Death Sucks and Then You Live

Jason was supposed to be happy now, right?

He was alive. Bruce was alive and back in the right time. The Phoenix Force was off doing Phoenix things and staying far away. He was getting along pretty okay with his family. He’d even finally managed to talk to Tim about stuff other than the mission or passing the salt at dinner. It was pretty awkward, and mostly just focused on books and movies and stuff, but nobody got punched, so he considered it a win.

He _was_ happy, right? He was smiling and laughing a lot more than he could remember doing in recent memory. He was a lot less stressed, thanks to not having to worry about where he was going to sleep or how he was going to get his next meal. That was supposed to be happiness, right?

It was normal to not be happy _all_ the time, right? It was normal to have bad days. It was normal for someone like him to have flashbacks. It was normal for someone like him who’d done the things he had to see the sun in the sky and remember a great, terrified presence scrabbling against him for escape as its parent devoured it, or to pick up something cool and metal and remember the feeling of a batarang pressed against the back of his neck, or any number of innocent and stupid things that made him run to the nearest bathroom and lock himself in until he didn’t feel like throwing up anymore.

But being normal didn’t make it any better.

Obviously, everyone noticed. Detectives and all. Thankfully, they didn’t make a huge show of it. They were all too smart to expect him to come out of causing the deaths of billions unscathed. But they all asked him if he was okay a lot more, and didn’t make fun of him for things he knew for a fact they would have if they weren’t worried he’d shatter like glass at the first insult, and once again none of them were willing to leave him alone. Or maybe it was just that Bruce didn’t want to leave him alone because, from his perspective, he’d just come back to life, and the others didn’t want to leave Bruce alone because _he’d_ just come back to life.

It was a bit annoying, but he could deal with it. He was fine. Everything was fine.

In hindsight, he really should have realized things were going to come to a head eventually, because they always did.

It went without saying that recent events made his nightmares even worse. In addition to the horrible memories, there was also the fact that most of his dreams involved him having telepathy again, and waking up felt like going deaf all over again. He never thought he’d come to hate a ceiling, but spending so much time staring up at it in a cold sweat trying to rationalize why he deserved to still be alive left a lot of bad associations.

On one particular night, he woke full of panic and terror along with guilt. By the time he properly woke up, he’d already pulled his gun from underneath his pillow and was crouched by the bed for cover. He tried to take a deep, calming breath, but his throat was too tight to let it through. He willed his muscles to relax, and was slightly successful, slumping against the side of the bed and burying his face in his hands. He wasn’t quite sure if his hands were shaking from fear, the winter cold, his pounding heartbeat, or maybe he’d suddenly caught some sort of deadly shaking disease. He wouldn’t be surprised. Something always came up to ruin every good thing he had.

He tried to rub at his eyes and nearly squished one of his eyeballs before he realized he was still holding his gun. With a jolt, he thrust his hand away from his face and made sure his finger wasn’t on the trigger. It wasn’t, and the safety was still on. He was okay. He was fine. All he had to do was unclench his fingers and put the gun on his bedside table.

His fingers refused to listen. Maybe they hadn’t quite caught up to his brain on the fact that he wasn’t actually in danger. Maybe they wanted to make sure he could appreciate the way the gun gleamed in the moonlight – once the black spots were gone from his vision, anyway. Maybe it was just his imagination, but that gleam almost seemed… inviting.

Was this really what the rest of his life was going to be? Waking up every night terrified and spending his days stealing happiness and purpose from people he didn’t deserve to call family? Did he even deserve that much? Should he even –

The door creaked open, and he instinctively pointed the gun at the door. Before he could make out more than a large, poorly-lit silhouette standing in the doorway, the lights flicked on, basically blinding him.

Jason ignored the instinct to shoot first and ask questions later, which was very good because it was Bruce’s voice that asked, “Jason?”

He lowered his arms and squinted his eyes so that he could see Bruce’s face without feelings like his eyes would melt in their sockets. Bruce, for once, wasn’t looking at him with those big sad ‘everything bad you’ve ever gone through is clearly my fault, including the stuff that happened before we met’ eyes. Instead, he was staring down at the gun like it was… well… a gun, or, as Batman saw them, the embodiment of humanity’s cruelty and failings.

“Where did you get that?” he asked. It sounded a little like he was being strangled, which he probably was, metaphorically by his own emotions.

 _I snuck away during a trip into town to beat up a piece of shit mugger and steal it._ Yeah, that wasn’t going to fly. Everyone was already leery enough about letting Jason so much as set foot outside the manor. He’d changed a hell of a lot since he was fifteen, but the Gotham media was both far too insightful and far too willing to pass ludicrous theories as fact for them to be sure they wouldn’t wake up to an article about Jason Todd being alive.

If he didn’t have what few trips he had, he was going to go completely stir crazy, so instead he just shrugged and said, “Alfred’s fine with it. It’s only got rubber bullets.”

Bruce finally looked up at him, clearly trying to think of an argument. It was a doomed endeavor. If Alfred said it was okay, it was okay, no matter what anyone else might say about it. And thank God for that, because never in a million years would he be able to convince Bruce that having a weapon close at hand to defend himself was one of the only reasons he got any sleep at all. Alfred understood, though. Good old Alfred.

Good old Alfred who thought Jason deserved to be alive, and didn’t deserve to lose him again.

His fingers finally went limp, letting the gun clatter to the floor in a way that would give anyone with any modicum of knowledge on gun safety a heart attack. He used his newly freed hands to rub at his eyes, trying to get the sleep and tears and nightmares out of them.

He felt more than heard Bruce walk across the carpet and take a seat on the floor next to him. He didn’t say anything or try to hug him or anything like that, which was good because any unannounced touch would probably get a punch in return right now. He was just there, and that was the best thing he could be for Jason right now.

“It never stops, does it?” Jason asked quietly.

Bruce didn’t have to ask what he meant. World’s best detective and all. Plus, he was intimately familiar with never being able to get over things or finding an end to nightmares.

“No, it doesn’t,” said Bruce. “But with time, you learn to cope better.”

“What if I can’t?” How could Jason possibly cope with this? With the knowledge that billions upon billions of people were dead because of him? That countless others had their lives ruined because of it? And how was he supposed to cope with losing powers that had become a part of his identity without him ever noticing? How was he ever supposed to not feel like there was a piece of himself missing, especially when every dream loved to remind him of what he once had?

Bruce hesitated a moment before he said, “Is it all right if I put a hand on your shoulder?”

Jason nodded and took his hands away from his eyes, instead using them to hug his knees against his chest. He kept his gaze firmly on the floor two feet in front of him as he felt Bruce’s hand rest on his shoulder and give a comforting squeeze.

“If you can’t do it yourself, we’ll help you,” Bruce promised. “That’s what family is for.”

Jason felt his fingers dig into his knees. Even through the fabric of his pajamas, it hurt. It was the least he deserved, though, so he didn’t bother doing anything to stop it.

“I don’t want –“ he began, and couldn’t continue. He wasn’t sure exactly how to phrase what exactly it was he didn’t want, and telepathically transmitting the thought directly wasn’t an option. He didn’t want to cause them all any more pain than he already had. He didn’t want to need help. He didn’t want to rely on others. He wanted to be able to function without leaning on others like a crutch. He didn’t want to be like this. He didn’t want–

“You may not want help, but you need it,” said Bruce firmly. “And we’ll give it to you whether you like it or not.”

Jason’s first instinct was to attack. To ask how Bruce knew what Jason wanted, to yell at him for always ignoring what he wanted in favor of what Bruce thought he needed, and usually that turned out to just be what Bruce would have wanted in that situation and Jason wasn’t him, why couldn’t he just –

But wasn’t that why he was in this situation? Because he refused to listen? Because he believed that he knew what was needed, and everybody else was wrong? Because he refused to listen to Bruce because he knew he might change his mind?

“Are you glad the Joker’s dead?”

Bruce’s hand on his shoulder clenched for a moment before he regained his composure. Or, at least, Jason assumed he regained it. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

“Why?” Bruce asked.

Jason didn’t know how to explain the reasoning behind the question. He didn’t really understand it himself. He knew, logically, that he wasn’t as bad as the Joker. Even if he’d caused far more damage than the clown ever could have in a full lifetime, the intentions behind his actions had been good. That counted for something. Didn’t it? He could be better. He wasn’t guaranteed to hurt more people as long as he was alive. Wasn’t he?

“Never mind,” he said, shrugging Bruce’s hand off his shoulder. “It’s stupid.” And when he gave it more than a moment’s thought, he realized that he didn’t dare risk hearing the wrong answer.

As fucking usual, Bruce ignored him. “I don’t know if I’m glad,” he said. “He hasn’t hurt anyone since, and he never will again, but people still get hurt. A lot of that is because of the vacuum he left. I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to fill it, but that won’t stop them from trying. Some of those people might have been hurt by the Joker anyway. We aren’t omniscient. We can’t know if the world is better or worse without him in it. Does that answer your question?”

“Not really,” said Jason. He couldn’t think of a better question, though, so he just silently stared down at the floor.

Bruce sat in silence, too. Not quite long enough for Jason to get anxious and frustrated enough to tell him to get out, but pretty close.

“His death didn’t undo any of the damage he did in life,” said Bruce. “Nor would that damage negate any good he might have done if given the chance.”

Jason finally turned to look at Bruce, just to make sure he wasn’t fucking joking. He wasn’t. “Are you honestly so delusional you think he would have taken that chance?”

Bruce’s expression hardened into robot mode. “We aren’t talking about the Joker.”

Jason turned away again and squeezed his eyes shut to stop any more stupid tears from coming out. “I’m too tired for this shit,” he said, getting to his feet. “You probably are, too. Go back to bed or I’m telling Alfred you skipped that meeting to play bat and mouse with Selina.”

He kind of wanted to keep his eyes open so he could see Bruce’s reaction, but that would just encourage him to stay, and right now Jason just wanted to be alone. He climbed back into bed and closed his eyes, giving as strong an emanation of ‘Go away and let me sleep’ as he could without telepathy.

Bruce, for once, didn’t push. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said. Jason faintly heard his footsteps cross the carpet, saw the lights go out through his closed eyelids, and heard the door creak shut.

Once he was sure Bruce was gone, he let himself cry and feel miserable until he fell asleep. He was still a teenager. He had the right.

* * *

Jason got through the night and breakfast without incident, and was just starting to think maybe they could all pretend his talk with Bruce never happened when Alfred asked (aka ordered) him to help him wash the dishes. There shouldn’t have been anything that the dishwasher couldn’t handle, so Jason braced himself as he walked into the kitchen and put the stack of dishes he was carrying on the counter.

Alfred got right to the point. “Master Bruce informed me of your conversation with him last night.”

Jason sighed and turned around, leaning against the counter. “Damn. And here I hoped that was just another bad dream.”

Alfred opened the dishwasher and gestured to Jason’s stack. “Would you please bring that over? We can work while we talk.”

Jason swore internally as he complied. On the one hand, it was good to have something to do with his hands and stare at instead of having to look at Alfred. On the other, he was now societally required to stick around until the job was done. Oh, for the days he was just a dirty street kid that could get away with anything with a pair of puppy-dog eyes.

Alfred waited until the clinking and clanking of dishes and cutlery had lulled Jason into a false sense of security before he sprang. “Have you considered trying therapy again, Master Jason?”

Jason froze and waited until he was sure he wouldn’t accidentally smash anything before he picked up the next glass. “I don’t think there are many therapists out there specializing in possession.”

“You might be surprised. Gotham University’s psychology program, at least, has made a great many changes to its curriculum to better prepare students for more… unusual cases.”

“I’m sure those students will make excellent use of it when they inevitably become supervillains.”

Unfortunately, Alfred did not take the bait and change subjects. “From what I understand, the Justice League is looking to hire some official therapists their members may work with without compromising their secret identities. I am certain nobody would object to you using such a resource.”

Damn it. There went most of his other reasons for not getting a shrink. What did he have left? That he just wanted to lock all his feelings and memories from the last three years in a vault deep inside his mind and throw away the key? That didn’t work. Just look at Bruce. Just look at _Jason_. It was already seeping through the cracks and threatening to drown him. But how the hell was talking to some stranger supposed to help?

“I’ll think about it,” he said, putting the last plate in place. “See you later. I gotta…” He couldn’t think of anything he had to do, besides get the hell out of here, so he assumed Alfred knew he didn’t have anything, too, and just walked out of the kitchen.

* * *

The episode drew to a close, and before anyone could start up the old argument on whether two in the morning was too late to watch another episode, Stephanie hit pause on the remote and turned to Jason. “So, now that we’re all properly sleep-deprived and in a good mood… Jason, have you been down to the Batcave recently?”

Jason glanced over at Cass and Tim, both of whom looked as confused as he was. Good. He never liked getting ganged up on. “Nope,” he said. “B thinks that if I get so much as a whiff of a case I’ll go running off and get horribly injured the second I’m out of his sight.”

“We all think that’s what you’d do, too,” said Steph. “But that’s not what I wanna talk about. Have you seen your memorial case since you came back?”

“No,” said Jason. The few times he’d been down there, he made sure to avoid looking at it, else he be filled with the overwhelming urge to punch it to pieces with his bare hands. “Does he _still_ have it up?”

“Yup.” Stephanie made sure to pop the p sound. “He’s even upgraded it.”

Jason groaned and leaned back, letting his head fall back against the top of the couch. “Do I even want to know?”

Tim spoke up for the first time since Jason had entered the room. “Yeah, Steph, I really don’t think now is the time.”

Stephanie looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “Can you think of a better time?”

Tim thought it over for a moment before silently conceding defeat and looking at Jason – or, rather, at the wall about three inches to the left of Jason’s face. “Look, he was… He was in a really bad place. And he just got back. He probably just hasn’t had time to take it down.”

“He had lots of time before,” Jason pointed out, while also avoiding thinking too hard about the exact event between now and before. “Why would now be any different?”

“You’re here now,” said Cass. “Before, you were still lost.”

Jason’s knee-jerk reaction was to object, but he couldn’t come up with an argument. He _was_ lost back then. Even though he was alive again, he was still lost to Bruce. Just… lost in general. He was still a little lost. But not lost enough to excuse _still_ having that stupid memorial up.

“I’m gonna go handle it,” he said, rising to his feet. “Do any of you know if we’ve got a sledgehammer lying around?”

Stephanie brightly informed him of which closet he could find one in, and he took off before Tim or Cass could try and tell him smashing things wasn’t a good way to deal with his feelings.

He found it easily enough, and made his way to the Batcave just as easily. Bruce and Damian were out, Dick was off doing stuff with the League or Titans or whatever group he was leading this week, and Alfred was probably getting some sleep while he let Babs handle comms for a while. There wasn’t anyone around who would want to stop him. Which was very good, because if anyone did, he might just try to hit them with the sledgehammer.

The Batcave was empty, and now that he wasn’t avoiding it like the plague the case was as easy to see as a big neon sign in a blackout. There was his old Robin costume, smaller and more to the side than he remembered. The latter was most likely to make room for the addition – his helmet. It must have been the one he left behind when he killed the Joker. Looking at it now, though, he never would have guessed it had been as damaged as he distinctly remembered it. Bruce must have looked through a ton of pictures for references and paid a lot of money to whoever repaired it, because it was perfect.

As he drew closer, sledgehammer heavy in his white-knuckled grip, he realized there was another change. The plaque had been given an addendum.

 _Jason Todd_  
A Good Soldier  
When It Mattered Most

Huh. Well, at least it was more honest. Irreverence, recklessness, and a near-complete disregard for orders weren’t exactly traits of a good soldier. But when it mattered, he’d been willing to lay down his life to try and save people. It was, at the very least, an improvement, which made him think Dick was the one who’d made the change when he was calling the shots.

Still not good enough to continue existing, though.

The glass was pretty sturdy. It took a couple of swings to finally break it, and a few more to completely reduce it to shards scattered on the ground. Once that was done, he grabbed the Robin costume, went over to the incinerator used to dispose of dangerous substances, threw the costume in, and activated it before he could have any second thoughts.

Once he heard the roar of flame reducing everything it touched to harmless ash, he went back and grabbed the helmet. Halfway back to the incinerator, he realized that he’d already activated it, and it was gonna be a while before he could use it again. Frankly, it would take a lot less time for him to steal one of the numerous bat or bird-themed bikes, drive to the docks, and throw it into the ocean, never to be seen again by anyone but Atlanteans and dolphins.

He grabbed a nondescript black helmet, a nondescript black bag for the Phoenix helmet, and a nondescript black motorcycle, thanked whoever was able to wrangle in the instinct to slap the Bat symbol on literally everything they owned, punched in the code to open the blast doors that he wasn’t technically supposed to know, and took off.

Driving a motorcycle at high speeds in the dark required a lot of focus, so Jason was blissfully free of any inconvenient thoughts and feelings during the drive, especially once he got into the city and had to deal with traffic. There wasn’t quite as much as there would be during the day, but it was still another welcome distraction.

Eventually, though, he arrived at the docks and parked, and all the thoughts came flooding in.

What was he doing? Why was he doing this? He was being stupid. Destroying the case wouldn’t erase the reason it had been created in the first place. He’d still died. He’d still killed. He’d still have nightmares about it, most likely for the rest of his life. Destroying it all might give him a bit of momentary catharsis, but that never lasted. Even if the case wasn’t there, the memory would be, and Jason didn’t know if he’d ever be able to look at the space it once occupied without remembering it.

He yanked the plain helmet off and walked toward the water. Maybe the fresh air would help him think. Or as close to fresh air as you could get in Gotham, anyway.

He stood at the edge, taking care not to put any weight on the wooden fence. Knowing Gotham, it probably hadn’t been replaced in years and was more rot than wood. He pulled the Phoenix helmet out of the bag and gave it a good, long look. It was probably just his imagination that made it seem duller than he remembered. Or the lighting. Or the fact that nothing nearby was on fire.

He expected to feel upset, looking at the helmet. To be reminded of all the awful things he did as Phoenix. But… he didn’t. He didn’t feel much of anything, looking at it. Just, ‘Oh, hey, there’s my helmet’. How the fuck was it that the fucking sun could give him a panic attack, but this thing didn’t get so much as a skipped heartbeat? Was it because he hadn’t actually been wearing it when he lost control? Had his brain somehow, despite all the evidence suggesting it should have, not associate the helmet with those memories?

He brushed his thumb over the helmet’s cheek. Maybe… Maybe this could still be a memorial. A positive one. A reminder that he and the Phoenix _had_ done some good. No matter how awful the things they’d done later had been, those things didn’t erase the good they did together.

Besides, it was a good helmet. If (or, more likely, when) his stupid family got themselves backed into a corner and needed him to come bail them out, it’d be a lot easier to keep this around than to go and find a whole new identity-concealing yet practical outfit.

And even if there were negative memories, throwing the helmet away wouldn’t stop it. Killing the Joker hadn’t stopped the nightmares about him, after all. Bruce was right. It never stopped. You just figured out how to shoulder the burden, even if it did feel like you were Atlas holding up the sky. After all, everything he cared about lived beneath the sky. He didn’t want to see them get crushed.

Was that what Bruce meant about others helping? Maybe it wasn’t making them take on the weight with you. Maybe it was just the thought of them that gave you the strength to keep carrying on.

His phone rang. The sudden noise made him startle and fumble the helmet, nearly dropping it into the ocean anyway regardless of epiphanies. He regained his grip, shoved it back into the bag, and answered the phone without checking who it was. “Hello?”

“So, any reason in particular you decided to smash up the case?” Barbara asked.

Jason shrugged. “Stephanie reminded me of its existence, and I remembered how much I fucking hate it.”

“I see,” said Babs. She didn’t sound very surprised, and _definitely_ not upset. “Are you okay?”

“No,” said Jason honestly. “But… I think I’m trying to be. If that makes any sense.”

“It does,” she assured him. Jason could have sworn he could hear a smile in her voice. “Congratulations, you’re already doing better than B. Speaking of which, he should be back soon. Should I tell him you need more time to cool off?”

Jason took some emotional inventory and found, to his surprise, that he actually felt pretty calm. “No. I’m good. I’ll head back soon.”

“All right. Drive safely.”

The call ended. Jason put the phone back in his pocket and looked up at the sky. He wondered if it was smog or regular clouds obscuring the stars. He wondered if he’d ever see a sky full of stars again. It was probably for the best he didn’t. As beautiful as it was, it wasn’t worth the cost.

He took one last deep, calming breath and went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've had to write an ending for something other than a comedy, so I hope I did a decent job.  
> I'm going to take a break before I start on the sequel. I've been writing this for nearly a year, so I'd like to do something different, at least for a little while.  
> Thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me. I never would have come this far if it weren't for your wonderful support.


End file.
